


After the Shooting

by Azure_K_Mello



Series: Blunt Force Trauma [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AP Tests, AP Tests Suck, Canon-Typical Violence, Education, F/M, Friendship, Identity Reveal, Kindness Matters, Minor Character Death, Ned Gets Hurt, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a BAMF, School Shootings, Social Media is a Shitshow, Teen Angst, everyone is trying their best, some people die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azure_K_Mello/pseuds/Azure_K_Mello
Summary: Peter Parker's life is back on track a year after being tortured by the Federal Government. Having put Steve Rogers and the boat firmly in his review mirror, he is living his best life. However, a school shooting and an Instagram post make things unravel around him, and he has to pick up the pieces once again. But, for everyone and everything he loses, he gains new perspective and new relationships.
Relationships: Bobby Drake/Johnny Storm, Hank McCoy/May Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds/Kitty Pryde
Series: Blunt Force Trauma [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1164683
Comments: 78
Kudos: 200
Collections: Spider-Man Public Identity Reveal, ellie marvel fics - read





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike every other story in this series, I am doing this in chapters. It feels right. Because he has suspense about his life and I want you to experience one piece at a time too. It's finished; it's edited and it's going up every Monday for five weeks. 
> 
> Please take care of yourselves, for some people, reading about a school shooting might be too much. We live in scary times when going to school might be dangerous. Outside of war zones, we shouldn't have shooting drills. But, here we are in a country where they happen. 
> 
> Peter mentioned that a shooting at school was his worst nightmare in Time Heals Most Wounds. That felt like Chekhov's Gun to me. So here it is, Peter's worst nightmare played out in real time.

It had been three hundred and seventy-eight days since Steve Rogers broke his leg with the second most recognizable symbol of American freedom. Peter’s life was good. The cops had presented him with birthday presents and baked goods a few days before, explaining that they didn’t know when his birthday was but that he had to be sixteen by now. It was comforting how they all accepted his secret identity and didn’t push. 

Last year he had missed MJ’s birthday. This year they all celebrated together, and he gave her a really nice sweatshirt that rested on her hips the way she liked and really cool pens that drew in all different thicknesses with a leather notebook. She had smiled, kissed him and everything was right in his world.

They were getting ramped up for Nationals, and MJ was stressed to the max, but Peter laughed and said, “Hey, we’re ready. This year, I won’t bail on you. And the team captain’s dad won’t go to prison a week later.”

“My dad? A criminal? You have to have big goals to do that. My dad wants to be the North East President of Resources for his company. That’s a big goal, but not ruling-the-underworld big,” she joked. 

They were all spending long hours after school preparing and looking forward to it. It was exciting to be coming up on the end of the school year, and it felt good to be there and not the Xavier school. Times were great.

Right up until the Wednesday before Nationals, things were chugging along, and Peter was enjoying his life. But, just as they were taking their seats for last period, his head started screaming. It was louder than almost anything he had ever felt before. No. No. He prayed no, but he realized there was only one thing — one thing — that could set him off this way. It was local and horrific but not on a world scale. It was personal, and it was terrifying. Mr. Soffelus was speaking, and Peter spoke calmly and clearly, “Mr. Soffelus, my worst nightmare is about to happen. So you need to stop. Everyone, we are about to be in a school shooting. Remain calm.”

Mr. Soffelus spoke calmly, gently as he said, “Peter, whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

Peter swallowed. “I wish it were me. I’m sure you could talk me down.” He started stripping fast. “And it’s really brave of you to try.” 

“Peter,” the man repeated, seeming confused and worried. “What are you doing?” 

“Mr. Soffelus, we don’t have time for that. Betty, call the main office.” It was always better to direct a single person than say “someone” because usually, people waited, expecting someone else to react. “Tell Principal Morita that we’re about to have a shooting. If he doesn’t believe you, tell him that everything he thinks about me is true and that I’m the one saying it.”

“Peter, what happened to your leg?” asked Mr. Soffelus, staring at the scar and the way it wasn’t quite straight. 

“Steve Rogers broke it almost exactly a year ago,” he pulled on his suit over his boxers. “Guys, please, please, remember we’re a team and don’t tell people my name, please. I really like my normal life.”

Betty was on the phone, and Mr. Soffelus said, “Peter, sit down. If there is a problem, I don’t want you to be running around the school in a very accurate Spider-Man outfit.” Peter jumped and attached himself to the ceiling.

“Robert,” he spoke firmly, in the Spider-Man voice, using the man’s name to stress the point as he crawled across the ceiling. “Lock the door behind me and follow the protocol. Do not keep that door open. You have fifteen children in this room and a toddler at home. You lock the door and take care of these kids. Let the superhero handle this. You do your job; I’ll do mine.” He was out the door in seconds and said, “Karen call everyone: Manhattan and Queens cops. Tell ‘em I need back up. Message every super we know. Send May a text that says I’ll be as careful as I can and that I am trying to get extra help to come to me.” 

He thought it as loudly as he could, “Puppies grow up to be dogs who get old and die.” He lost no time, swinging toward the sensation of doom.

Charles spoke calmly, but with great clarity, “Peter, what’s wrong?”

He thought, “School shooting, in my school. Is there anyone who can get here in the next two minutes? It’s about to go down.”

“We’re in Australia, I’m so sorry, Peter. We’re split between Australia and Vermont. I don’t have any teleporters. We’re not going to be there in time. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize; I’ll handle it, just wanted to check. Gotta concentrate now.”

He swung toward the feeling, but he was getting pulled in more than one direction. There were multiple shooters in his nice, safe school. The alarm went off seconds before the shots started. He could hear them coming from different directions, echoing. It took mere moments, but it felt like forever, to reach the first one. He webbed him up, knocked him unconscious. Dan Croon had five guns that Peter could see. He webbed the boy’s hands. There was glass everywhere. Peter heard screaming. He did not look in the classrooms. He couldn’t let anything distract him. 

He got to the stairways. Up or down, it didn’t matter; there were guns in both directions, he couldn’t go both ways. It was worse above him. He went up, swinging through. The shooter was at the other end of the building. The gunshots were steady. An automatic. Who brings an automatic to a school? Dan Croon and his friends. He could already guess that there were four more shooters, more of the expelled lacrosse players. 

Mike Darrows hit the locker hard when Peter webbed him. Too many guns hanging off his shoulders to count easily. He was instantly unconscious, possibly dead, Peter couldn’t hear a pulse. But, he was still being overwhelmed by the sound of guns. He webbed him and kept his gaze away from the classrooms. He saw a bathroom door was propped open; he didn’t look. He got to the stairs and swung up again; a bigger threat upstairs than down. People were dying downstairs, but more were endangered upstairs. A horrible equation; one Peter hadn’t had to handle in a while. Nothing to do but go up. 

Karen was talking, police were on their way, so was Daredevil. Not fast enough, not even close. Peter would be done before help could reach him, still, better to have late support than none. He told Karen to tell Daredevil he would be too late. He told her to tell the cops there were multiple shooters. Anthony Dean saw him coming and turned the gun to Peter. Maybe the material was bulletproof, but force was still force. He felt his teeth rattle before he managed to hit him with webs and get him to the floor, webbing his hands, the gun, anything to stop him from shooting.

Karen told him he had been shot twenty-one times; she could tell because the noise of the bullets was different when it hit the cloth. Reed had explained that the material redistributed the force so it would be an all-over bruise instead of a wound. The impact of twenty-one bullets was too much for it to be a bruise. His vision went white as he swung, pain, so much pain. He ignored it, pressed through. 

Mark Harris hit his head, hard, when Peter webbed him to the wall. It was another hit that might have been fatal, Peter wasn’t sure. He webbed Mark’s hands; better safe than sorry. He had a gun in each hand, like a gangster in a film. Peter heard the sobbing from the classrooms, he ignored it just as he ignored his own pain. 

He got to the stairs, expecting to go down, but no. Not five shooters. There weren’t five shooters because the feeling of pain and anxiety was worse up than down. There were seven expelled lacrosse players, seven boys who the media would refer to as “disaffected.” Seven, two were on the floor above, one was aground level. The damn shots were still steady; it seemed like they were sticking to the halls, just spraying the classrooms. Peter preemptively mourned the people on the first floor. Better to go up, more lives there. He told Karen to update the cops: at least seven shooters, four down, three in play. 

He went up. Elliot Davis had always struck Peter as so nice, not really part of that clique at all. But he shot Peter seventeen times before Peter managed to get him down and unarmed. He wasn’t sure why Elliot would help them. Sure, he’d been expelled, but he was nice. 

Someone in one of the classrooms said, “Spider-Man?”

“The danger hasn’t passed. Get away from the window.” 

“Police are here,” said Karen. “All the doors are blocked; they are looking for a way in.”

If he had gone down, he could have opened the doors. Maybe people could have gotten out. He hadn’t known, crazy senses or not, he hadn’t known.

Peter Epstein came down the hall, gun held at waist height, shooting his the classrooms without even looking. Peter shot his webs and moved fast toward the boy who he had always liked, if only because they had the same name. He kicked him in the chest, forcing him against the back wall of the hallway, webbing him tight. He was still conscious, and Peter shook his head, “What the hell were you thinking?” He made sure the guy couldn’t shoot, couldn’t hurt, and took off again, finally — finally — going down. “Where is our school resource officer?” asked Peter.

“Sick kid,” said Karen. 

“We didn’t get a sub?”

“No,” she replied.

No time for a chat, no time for anything. Peter went down and saw James Johnson. The boy looked almost like he was regretting his choices. It was quiet, James was reloading. Peter heard whimpering from rooms, people trying to stay silent and safe. He knocked James out fast. None of them had powers; none of them were hard to take down; all were armed to the teeth and spread out. 

He swung to the door, telling Karen to tell the cops he was coming to them so that they didn’t shoot him. He could feel blood; he hadn’t realized he was bleeding, dripping off him. He broke a padlock and opened the door with exhaustion. 

He said, “Seven shooters. One shooter here, one on the second floor, one on the third, two on the fifth, two on the eighth. All bound; all but one unconscious.” He managed to get out of their way. “Karen, call Principal Morita, tell them that all the expelled lacrosse players have been webbed up but to keep people in place. Have him make an announcement, asking people to call the office if they have injured in their rooms and tell him to call the cops and get people paramedics as fast as possible.” 

He looked at himself. He had been shot through the hand and the ankle. His gloves weren’t bulletproof, nor were his socks. “Many times was I shot?” he asked Karen. 

“Thirty-eight,” she said, “Hank is closest, he’s about fifteen minutes out, he’s in Vermont, but he’s flying fast. Strange is in another dimension; he’s rushing here too. Same rules as usual, you have to let the paramedics touch you if you pass out.”

He got off the stairs, aware he was in the way, and sat on the back of a firetruck. A paramedic came over, and Peter said, “No one touches my wounds unless I am unconscious or they are a mutant. My doctor is on his way.” 

He saw them start to bring people out, stretcher after stretcher. He didn’t cry. He never did once he got into the right headspace. He saw TV cameras far closer than he would have liked. Then Madison Harwood was there, hugging him. “Madison,” he gently patted her back with the hand that didn’t have a hole in it. “We got out.” He didn’t know her. She was one of the coolest girls in school. He pulled away and then, oddly, she started flirting. Danger, horror, did weird things to people’s minds, turned off logical parts, made somethings, and behaviors seem normal that weren’t. People were known to rearrange the lawn furniture next to their houses that had just burned down. Her flirting wasn’t the weirdest reaction to trauma that he had ever encountered, but he said, “I was in the school during seventh period. I’m your classmate. Ask yourself if there is anyone at school you want to flirt with outside of Billy. If there is, dump Billy. I’m glad you’re okay.” She reached out to touch in in a flirty way, and it shot agony through his body, “I’m covered in my own blood, Madison, walk away.” 

Then MJ was there, and her hug didn’t hurt. He wanted to cling. He wanted to breathe her in. He wanted to stay in her scent for as long as possible. But, all he could smell was the sweat in his mask. “Michelle,” he said. No one who didn’t really know her called her MJ. She pulled back, and she was covered in tears and ruined eyeliner that had been perfect a couple of hours before. She hadn’t broken a sweat in gym; she’d looked flawless when they had last parted. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said. 

He didn’t understand. “Hey, Michelle, none of this is on you.”

She shook her head, “Marie Jennings.”

They weren’t friends with Marie; Peter didn’t understand. Marie had been in Mrs. Taylor’s class across the hall from AP Physics. None of the shooters had been close to there. He shook his head, “I think Marie is fine,” he said. Maybe she had been in the bathroom, the one with the propped door. It wasn’t the bathroom on their floor, but perhaps that one was out of order.

MJ shook her head and held out her phone. There, he saw Marie’s Instagram. He saw a picture of him in his boxers, leg visible through the open door. He swiped and saw himself pulling on his pants, directly facing the camera. A second swipe showed him pulling on the mask. The fourth picture was him fully in the suit. The caption said, “Spider-Man goes to my school, Midtown Science and Tech. @ActualSpiderMan is @MrPBParker.” There was a link to his profile.

“It’s already trending,” she said.

“Karen, lock all my social media, both my personal ones and my Spidey ones. Lock them down. This was posted seconds before I left the room, before the bullets started; before the alarm. People love getting the scoop,” He pulled MJ to him for a hug. If it was out there, it was out there, and he loved his girlfriend, wanted her close. “It’s worse than you think it is,” he said as he stroked her hair with his hole-free hand.

“How?” she huffed into his shoulder, “our school has been shot up, you’re bleeding and your name is out there. How can it be worse?”

“You were on the fourth floor; Ned was on the third, and they are clearing the building up, not down. If my cover is so blown that my sensible girlfriend thought ‘screw it,’ where is my best friend who lacks the discretion of an aardvark?” He tried to flag down multiple cops. They saw him; they didn’t stop. Manhattan cops didn’t like Spider-Man. “Excuse me,” he tried, but they ignored him, and he said, “Excuse me: I need help.” 

One cop called, “We’ll get to you when we get to you.”

Peter sighed, “Manhattan cops hate me.” He was pretty sure the TV cameras had picked it up. He didn’t care. He got a firewoman’s attention and asked, “Excuse me? How much of the building has been cleared?” 

“Uninjured people up to the fourth floor. But the number of injured?” she shook her head. “There are so many damn guns.”

Peter nodded, “There was firing going on for eight and forty-two seconds. I did my best.”

“You did amazing, kid,” she said. “But seven shooters in an eight-story building does a lot of damage.”

“Do you have a list of the injured?” he refused to believe that Ned could be dead.

“Not yet. I can try to learn something. Name?”

“Edward Leeds, but everyone calls him Ned.”

“Description?”

“On the bigger side, Asian, red and white striped shirt. He was on the third floor.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said, before heading back into the building.

“Fire and rescue do like me,” he said. “I need some gauze or something. I’m bleeding a lot.” He tried to flag down another couple of cops but got nowhere. He was kind of surprised they would ignore him in front of the cameras. Then Matthew was there.

“Hey, what happened?” asked Matthew, gray with horror.

“No, y’know what?” MJ was pissed, and her voice sharp. “You’ve been ignoring him for five minutes while he’s been trying to get gauze, so he isn’t answering a damn question until he’s got gauze. He’s bleeding.”

Matthew glanced at Peter’s hands and went to get supplies. To MJ, Peter said, “Matthew is a friend from Queens. I’m pretty sure he just got here.” He heard Matthew shouting and demanding the cops set up a perimeter and get the press back from the building. 

Matthew came back with a whole stack of square gauze. He applied them and pressure to Peter’s hand, making Peter wince. “He said you were too smart, cool, funny, pretty, sophisticated and intimidating to ask out. I can’t see most of that, but I get the intimidating.”

“You can see she’s beautiful,” said Peter.

“I make it a general rule not to judge the attractiveness of children,” said the man, smiling at MJ. He was calm. He was collected. Goddamn, he was a professional. Because he, more than any of the other cops, should have been panicking. 

“More grown men need to follow that rule,” said MJ.

He said, “I was the person at the other end of the phone the night you two accidentally went to a drug raid as a first date.”

“I’m sorry I told you off.”

He shook his head, “He never tells me when the Manhattan cops are dicks to him. I would rather know. You shouldn’t be here, though. You’re going to blow his cover.”

“It’s all over the internet, pictures of me pulling on the suit,” said Peter. “It’s everywhere. Our best friend is still in the building. Cops are too busy to talk to me. I don’t know where he is. He was on one of the floors they cleared, but he’s not out here,” Matthew was looking at the building, worried. “What class does Matty have this period?”

“You knew?” asked Matthew.

“I’ve seen him in the halls. He told people his name was Matt. I just thought, ‘Okay, I’ve been looking at your art projects for years, Matty, and I know about your horse obsession. But sure: you can be a very grown-up Matt.’” 

“Freshman Honors English,” said Matthew. 

“That’s the eighth floor, they aren’t there yet,” said MJ.

“How many shooters on the eighth floor?”

“Two,” said Peter. “But we don’t know that he’s not okay.”

Matthew shook his head, “He’s not answering his cellphone.”

“He could have dropped it,” said Peter. “I don’t have either of my cellphones right now. We don’t know anything about Matty or Ned until we know something.”

“No one has spoken to you? You’re the one person who was in the building, and they haven’t spoken to you?”

“I told them there were seven shooters and what floors they were on,” said Peter. “But they’ve asked nothing.”

“Someone should have taken your goddamn statement.”

Peter shook his head, slightly woozy as he did so. “You and I both know that Manhattan cops don’t like me. They don’t care that I’m the only person who was on the scene. They don’t want to talk to me.”

Matthew sighed, angrily, “Where is Hank?” 

“On his way,” said Peter.

“Let me get my recorder, I’ll take as much of your statement as I can before he sweeps you away.”

The man left, and Peter looked at MJ. “He probably wants a distraction. Better to work until we know.” She hadn’t been shot; she was okay. She was covered in blood. “I’m bleeding all over you.”

“That’s okay; I don’t like this sweatshirt.”

“I gave you that sweatshirt for your birthday,” he said, and she nodded.

“That’s why I wear it; I’m not into this shade of green.”

He wrapped his arm around her, “I’m so glad you’re okay… there was a gift receipt.”

She gave a tiny shrug, “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s the perfect cut, a great fit, comfy as hell, but it’s not my shade, tiger.”

Matthew came back, and Peter gave him a very full, blow-by-blow account. He had been in enough situations to know precisely what Matthew needed. He gave him all the names and locations. “Any ideas as to motive?” asked Matthew.

“They all got kicked out three weeks ago; huge cheating scandal. Four of them lost college scholarships. Whole school is angry at them because they ruined the season and,” he stopped.

“What?” asked Matthew.

“Ruined the season… Nationals for Academic Decathlon are Saturday in D.C. we’re not going, are we? We’re not going to be together enough to go. I mean, people are dead. Nationals don’t matter, but hundreds and hundreds of hours of prep and meets and tests, and we’re not going. People are dead, maybe even some of our teammates; Nationals don’t matter. But, it just hit me: we’re not going to Nationals. We were the favorites to win. I missed it last year because the Federal government had recently tortured me, and now our classmates are dead, and we’re not going to go. We were the favorites. We have a nine-year winning streak. We’re not going to Nationals. People are dead.” 

Matthew bit his lip, clearly not knowing what to say. Peter cleared his throat, “The shooters got kicked out. The lacrosse season was in the toilet; whole student body was angry at them for cheating and for ruining the season. I guess, maybe, they wanted to close their high school careers being hated for all our deaths instead of being pariahs for cheating.”

Karen spoke in his ear. “The Manhattan cops got their thumbs out of their asses and set up a perimeter; May is stuck on the other side.”

Peter said, “My AI, Karen, says the cops aren’t letting my aunt through the barrier. Can you please get her?”

“I think only parents are allowed through,” said Matthew. 

“You have her in your phone as Spider-Mom,” said Peter.

Blinking Matthew said, “You mean, all the deals and ground rules, and I’ve never spoken to your mother?”

“Well, you can go out to the Cypress Hill Cemetery and talk to Mom, Dad and Uncle Ben. But, if you want to talk to the person who cooks my dinner and sets my curfew, you need to talk to Aunt May. We’re the only two left. There’s a reason Stark needed to bleep what we called my parent in that video. And they won’t let her through. Can you help, please? I want May. She’s in green scrubs, has big glasses.”

“Drop dead gorgeous, five foot five, dark hair in a bun,” added MJ. “Last name Parker.”

“That’s a more useful description, but you’ve lost a lot of blood, so I’m going to let it slide, Spidey.” 

He left to get her, and Peter said, “Karen is swearing, that’s what this day has led to, Karen is swearing.”

Then May was there, hugging him, saying his name was everywhere. The hug jostled him too much. He tried to move away and fold up his mask. He ended up vomiting blood on her scrubs and white nursing clogs. “I am so sorry. But please don’t squish me. I’m sorry, May. I’m mostly okay: this isn’t my first bullet wound. Deadpool stitched the last one. But that was just a thigh graze, so this is worse, but it’s not my first bullet rodeo. It’s just my first bad bullet encounter. I can’t dodge automatic weapons. There were so many bullets. I did my best to swing around them. My ankle hurts. I really hope it didn’t hit my growth plates. I have, like two more growth spurts in me.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry. It’s okay. I’m here. Give me Karen,” She said, evenly. 

Peter reached under his mask, not wanting his face out there. May took the earpiece and put it in her own, “Karen, can you call the Blackbird, please?... Thanks.” Then she said, “Hi, he is vomiting blood, you can see daylight through the hole in his hand.” She crouched and slowly removed his sock and clog, making him hiss. “His ankle is badly damaged.” Standing, she lifted his shirt and said, “He’s one solid bruise.” Then she asked how many times he was shot and repeated, “He was shot thirty-eight times… yeah.” She gave him a gentle, placating smile and said, “Sweetie, I know you don’t want a tearful Spider-Man on the news, but I need to have a look at your head, please. Your name is all over the internet and the radio.”

“I’m not crying; Spider-Man keeps it together. I never cry while the danger is still here. I just don’t want my face out there.”

She nodded but said, “Sweetie, it’s too late for that. Can you do this for me? Please.” He pulled off his mask, and MJ gasped. “He looks like he lost a prize fight with a heavyweight champion and…” She tilted her head and looked at him from several angles. “I don’t have a flashlight, but he seems to have blown a pupil… yeah, that’s my thought exactly.” To Peter, she said, “We’re gonna get Stephen to help. We’re taking you to Metro-Gen.” Then she said, “Hi, Stephen,” relating everything to him, she said, “We don’t have enough time to get him safely to Westchester and get a team. Yeah… remind Christine that if she hates you, she always loved me and I would consider this a personal favor… Thank you.”

“If I have a head injury, I can’t have surgery. That’s what killed McDreamy.”

“What killed McDreamy was not having a neurosurgeon. I just pulled the best neurosurgeon on the East Coast out of retirement. Most people won’t let a man who has to hold a scalpel psychically operate. We’re not idiots; we go for the best.” She paused and said, “Hank would like to remind you that my favorite show is trash, and you shouldn’t base your medical advice on McDreamy.”

“Dad!” said a voice, and Matthew practically melted as he turned to catch his son.

“Thank God, are you okay?” asked Matthew. Matty nodded, tear-streaked but uninjured. “Thank God.” He just kept hugging him.

Matty saw Peter, and his eyes went wide, “You’re that kid who’s friends with a princess and who has three patents for polymers.”

“Only one is on a polymer. The other two are about extrusion tech for polymers,” said Peter, feeling fuzzy. He leaned, and this time people saw and moved back just before he vomited, “Way too much light.” He sort of pulled part of his mask on. The movement of his hand shot fire through the rest of him. He gasped and cradled his hand to his chest. 

“Good news bad news?” offered May.

“Bad news is multiple surgeries and possibly more rehab, having only just finished. Good news is it was the leg Steve Roger already broke, so this doesn’t impact my modeling potential because that leg was already ugly,” said Peter.

“You shouldn’t take my joke, Peter, it’s all I have to offer you,” said May.

“We’re not going to Nationals, May,” said Peter. “I have no idea who is dead. But we’re not going to Nationals.”

“No,” agreed May. “No, I’m sorry, kids. The season is over. I’m so sorry. But, at least you had all the fun of prepping for it with your friends. You guys had a blast studying for it. Just because you aren’t going to Nationals doesn’t take away from the fun you had. It was all giggling, inside jokes and facts about the Spanish Inquisition.” 

He saw the Blackbird in the sky and said, “Ever since I sat on the rig, I’ve been fighting passing out to stop a paramedic from touching me. I’m gonna stop fighting it now.” He felt hands catch him.


	2. Chapter 2

That was all he knew until he woke up with a tearful MJ at his bedside. “Hey,” he croaked. She offered him water, and he said, “I can still taste bloody vomit, but it might be like Lady Macbeth: out, damn spot. Maybe it’s not there.”

She gave him a small smile and got a little pan, probably meant for pee, “I like it when you show you pay attention to my tutoring. But, this isn’t like the spot: I can see blood on your teeth. Swish and spit.”

He did as told and saw the water come out beige. He did it a couple of times until his mouth wasn’t as gross and the water was clear. “This is not sexy; I’m sorry.”

“You have a mouth full of blood because your organs got damaged when you were shot thirty-eight times saving us. You were in surgery for almost seven hours.” She stroked his cheek, very gently, his face ached. He wondered how his bruises looked. “Nothing’s sexy about today, Peter, this isn’t the low. On the plus side, you’re never that sexy, just adorable and sweet. And I do like getting naked with you.” 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, feeling exhausted but meaning it. They hadn’t had sex… like, total sex. She had almost died today; she would have died partly a virgin. Other people had. “Do we know who is dead?” he asked, settling back as she put aside the pan. 

“Some,” she said, “We know some. News is saying it would have been worse if you weren’t there, that you saved hundreds of lives. No resource officer at school today, thirty-nine guns carried by seven people with thousands of bullets. You got the alarm set off, and you fought them so fast. You saved a lot of people.” She took his uninjured hand in both of hers.

“How many didn’t I save?”

“Some are still in surgery. Ned’s in recovery; he’s doing really well; he should be okay.”

“Who isn’t okay, MJ?”

“Thirty-four, so far. So far, we’re up to thirty-four. We beat Virginia tech for the highest deaths in a school shooting. But, seven shooters with thirty-nine guns could have done a lot more. They were using automatics. You stopped them.”

“Who?” asked Peter, forcing the answer, needing to know. “Are any of them our friends? I mean, I know they’re all important but, were they our friends?”

MJ sniffed, biting her lip, “Sally, Abe and Cindy.”

“So, with Ned and me,” he said.

“Half of our team is dead or in the hospital. There’s no way we could go to Nationals. Even if we were all over the trauma. Only one alternate. Charles got winged by a bullet, but he’s fine, six stitches on his thigh. He’s okay,” She went silent and said, “News also showed Manhattan cops ignoring you and Matthew being pissed no one had taken your statement. Now there’s calls for investigations into Manhattan police’s policies about peacekeeping activities… three of our friends are dead.”

“You checked in with your parents?” 

“I checked in with my parents before my floor was cleared, tiger. That’s what you do. They’re here to support my two best friends. Dad’s stunned your Spider-Man. Mr. Leeds is not, like, at all he knew before Steve Rogers broke your leg. Said that a kid couldn’t go from asthma and baby fat to a six-pack overnight and not be enhanced. He knew all along — before any of us — and just kept his mouth shut.”

Peter couldn’t really process that. He went to put his uninjured hand through his hair but found a bandage. “Did I lose my best feature?”

“No, tiger: your jawline is fine, just puffy. You do have two skull fractures, and Stephen had to remove parts to get to two bleeds. You have a buzz cut. Sorry, I know you like your Nightwing hair. It’ll grow back. We’re alive. It’ll grow back. Before you see it, you should know you’re not going to want to tip the barber. But, hey, they say the difference between love and a crush is if a relationship can survive a bad haircut.” 

He looked at her tears, “I love you too. Two of the shooters, I hit them hard. Mike and Mark.”

“Mike is fine. Mark is still unconscious. Mark’s parents are making noises about suing.” Peter closed his eyes and breathed out, “They aren’t going to,” said MJ. “There was footage from the larger halls. It shows how fast you were, what they were doing. They had automatic guns, they shot over two hundred people. News is already calling this one of the worst mass shootings in history. The Vegas shooting had more injuries, but we have the highest after them. And the most deaths in a school. No lawyer would take a case against you. Some lawyers from Hell’s Kitchen already announced they’re your lawyers.”

“Nelson and Murdoch do love their weird cases. Two hundred people?”

“More than,” said MJ. “A lot are still in surgery. But all of our friends are out. We know. Of our friends… Abe, Sally and Cindy. Mr. Soffelus is with my parents in the waiting room. Mr. Soffelus is freaking out.”

“Maybe because I used the Spider-Man voice, called him Robert and ordered him to look after the children in the room instead of the superhero who had work to do. That’s probably disconcerting: having the youngest student in the room become the boss. The Spider-Man voice is way more grown-up than Mr. Soffelus’.”

“Hey,” said a voice from the doorway. “I just went to get MJ and me some coffee. How you feeling, sweetie?” asked May as she came to him.

“Like, surprisingly okay,” said Peter. “How am I doing?”

“You’re feeling surprisingly okay because Hank knows what drugs to give you,” said May. “Surgery went amazing. Hank said that it was mostly a case of putting stuff back where it should be and then letting you heal. Your body — not starved, not drugged, not cold, getting medical attention in under half an hour — did most of the work. You lost a lot of blood, so we’re giving you a transfusion. Hank says that in a week you’ll be walking, in two you’ll feel fine. But, you might need some physical therapy for your hand for a while, but nothing on your leg. He was watching it knit itself back together. Your ribs we all broken, but you managed to avoid most organ injury, and what you had is fixing itself. Your kidney is functioning well.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” said MJ. She sounded exhausted as she drank her coffee. “You’re also a meme. I think it’s a little premature —tasteless, to do it so fast — but there you go.”

“How am I a meme?”

“‘Mom asks me to clean the dishes when I’m cramming for tomorrow’s test that I know I’m gonna fail: I’m covered in my own blood, Madison, walk away.’”

Peter gave a weak smile, “That’s kinda funny. But poor Madison shouldn’t have to have her name out there like that.”

“Poor Madison wasn’t shot and shouldn’t flirt with my boyfriend while she has her own,” MJ replied. “Also, poor Madison has no interest in geeky Peter Parker. Just because she suddenly noticed you doesn’t mean it’s open season. She likes Spider-Man. She can keep her hands to herself.”

“If she had had anything other than adrenaline running through her, she wouldn’t have done it. No one flirts with a bleeding superhero next to their school filled with bodies when they aren’t pumped up on fear induced brain chemicals.”

She shrugged, “She better keep her hands off before I have to write my name on you in Sharpie. ‘Lacks the discretion of an aardvark’ has also been trending. Mrs. Leeds thinks it’s the best description of Ned ever.”

“There has never been anything subtle about Ned. You said he’s in recovery. Is he awake?”

“Not yet, but it would be really early for him to be awake,” said May. “Soon.”

“Cindy, Abe and Sally are dead, May.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I know. I’m so sorry.” 

“There eleven us on the team, Charles, Ned and I have been shot, and Abe, Cindy and Sally are dead.”

May nodded, “I know. You wouldn’t qualify for Nationals even if you wanted to — you need ten to field a team.”

“Our friends are dead. Sally is Jewish. Her funeral will be within three days, and she can’t be buried on a Friday, which means her funeral will be on Saturday — the day of Nationals.” Then something else hit him, “Has anyone texted Shadowcat?”

“Hank and the Leeds have been keeping her in the loop,” MJ assured him. “Logan is bringing her for a visit tomorrow morning. Are the Fantastics still on the moon?”

“They are scheduled to be there until next week,” said Peter.

“I had Karen leave them a message. They check it every twelve hours. I’m sure Johnny will be here soon,” said May. “I don’t care what’s going on with the inhuman royal family and ex-girlfriend drama, you guys got shot at, and your face is on the internet: Johnny is going to come here as soon as he can.” 

“Oh, God, I forgot that my name is everywhere. It’s not just Spider-Man who is a meme, it’s me. So focused on the dead,” He exhaled, hard. 

“Honey, you must be in a lot of pain,” said May.

Peter shook his head, “Healing abilities, not my first gunshot. I’m fine. Am I going to be okay to go to Sally’s funeral?”

“Because of infection concerns, and organ healing, the docs want you here until Monday at the earliest,” said May. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll go,” MJ said, “I’ll go for the three of us. And, one day next week, while they’re sitting shiva, we’ll go see her parents together. You’ll be on a crutch, but we’ll go together.”

“Do you think her parents will want me there?”

“Peter, you did your best,” said MJ.

“My spidey-sense told me to go up. The doors downstairs were bolted. Maybe if I had gone down-”

“No,” said May. “No. You did everything, Peter. You got the alarm going; you went toward the bullets. No one blames you.”

“Children are dead, May, parents might not feel the way you do.”

“Abe, Sally and Cindy’s parents know you cared about them,” said May. “We all know that the decath-letes live in each other’s back pockets. The same cold goes around the whole team as you share drinks and ChapSticks. They know you loved each other. I’ll talk to them, check, but I don’t know why they wouldn’t want you there.”

“Because I’m not just their friend Peter, I’m also Spider-Man, and I didn’t save them.”

“I’ll check,” promised May. 

He must have fallen asleep for a little asleep because MJ was half in the bed, half on a chair, fast asleep, and Mr. Soffelus was there. “Sorry I called you Robert, but I really needed you to listen and lock the door,” He spoke softly and stroked MJ’s hair away from her face.

“I locked it,” promised the man. “Almost killed me to do it. But when a superhero tells you to do something, you do it. The voice, coming out of you… Y’sounded just like Spider-Man on the news.”

“There’s a good reason for that,” said Peter.

“It’s a really grown-up voice.”

“I was fourteen when I started doing this, and I needed cops to take me seriously. I have a pretty high pitched voice when I’m not making an effort. Did you check in at home? I know the adults in these situations tend to just focus on the children. But you have a partner and child.”

“It’s been nine hours, Peter, I checked in. I even went home just to kiss my wife and baby,” the man assured him.

“Good, keeping your people close is important. Three of my friends are dead. Mr. Soffelus, my friends are dead. And not, like, my Defender friends, or my X-friends or even my cop friends, just decath-letes. They’re supposed to be the safe friends. Is our class okay?”

“Our class is fine. You saved us, Peter.”

“My name is all over the internet, Mr. Soffelus.”

“Fucking Marie; she’s always been a snitty bitch,” said Mr. Soffelus. “I don’t like to call a seventeen-year-old a bitch, but I’ve never liked her.” 

“Wow, Mr. Soffelus, did you just swear about a student to a student?”

“Not to a student, to Spider-Man.”

Switching to the Spider-Man voice, he said, “Foul language is beneath us. As citizens of the world, we should face it with polite eloquence. It makes you sound neither clever nor controlled.”

“Very weird,” said Mr. Soffelus. “You sound just like him. No one in our class would have said a word to anyone. We’re a team. I wouldn’t have even told my wife. I’m so sorry, Peter.” 

“Three of my friends are dead. Are we still at thirty-four?”

The man shook his head, “We’re up to thirty-seven. It’s-”

Speaking fast, he said, “I don’t want names. Not right now.”

Nodding Mr. Soffelus said, “Okay, no names. Your aunt will be back soon. She went to give your house keys to a guy named Luke, he’s gonna take your dog.”

“Luke Cage,” said Peter. “Lucky likes Luke. My name is out there now, no one will be confused as to why Harlem’s Hero is going to my house. Lucky’s known Luke since back when he was Clint Barton’s dog. Am I gonna have to move? Like, is my house safe?” Then he said, “I’m stoned. Karen, can you call Hank? Ask him to tell the nurses to turn off the drugs and give me, like, an Advil? The pain is fine.”

“He’s in the hospital, Peter, he just wanted to give you a little time with Mr. Soffelus. He’s coming.”

“Thank, Karen.”

“Who is Karen?” asked Mr. Soffelus.

“AI, I wear an earpiece twenty-four-seven except when I shower.”

“Does she talk to you during tests?”

“Excuse me?” Karen sounded pissed. “After this hell of a day? Hand me over, Peter, hand me over!”

Peter sighed, “You’ve just made Karen real angry. She wants to chat.” He took the earpiece out and said, “My ears are clean.”

Mr. Soffelus put the earpiece in and instantly looked scared, grimacing. “Hello, I… Yes… Yes, of course… Yes, I’m sorry… Yes, sorry… It was rude, you’re right, it’s just-… Yes, ma’am… Yes, he is a lovely boy… I’m glad he likes my class… No, he’ll kill it on the test; he’ll get his five… Yes, I know it’s a lot of homework but… Yes… No, I’ve never heard his impressions.”

“Karen,” Peter groaned. “Stop telling people about the impressions. Those are supposed to stay between you and me.”

Mr. Soffelus was still listening. “Yes, ma’am… Yes, I’m sorry… It was rude and unbecoming… Yes… No, you shouting won’t hurt his grade… It was nice to meet you too.” He handed the earpiece back, looking shocked. 

“Karen,” said Peter, putting it back in his ear, “happy?”

“You’re my favorite, and no one speaks poorly of you.”

“Love you too,” he replied. 

Hank came in, seeing MJ asleep, he spoke softly. “If you’re professing love to your physics teacher, I’ve seriously overmedicated you.”

“No, Karen is upset. School shooting is my worst nightmare. Three of my friends are dead.” Hank removed the bag from the poll and replaced it with a different one, changing the fluid running into Peter’s IV.

“Saline and antibiotics, a lower dose of pain killer because you only think you don’t need it because you’re high,” said Hank.

“Thanks. Three of my friends are dead, Hank. It’s just a few holes. My friends are dead. I don’t want to be stoned.”

“I know. I really thought this was gonna be your year: three hundred and seventy-eight days since that bastard broke your leg. This was gonna be your year. Now, three decath-letes are dead. It’s not just a couple little holes; it was serious surgery, so I need you to take it easy. I’ll have you back at school by Monday — if there is school on Monday — but I need you to rest. Stay off the leg.” Before Peter asked, Hank said, “Full bathroom access just use the wall and keep all weight off that ankle ‘til Sunday night.” 

“What does it say that I find the bathroom more stressful than the shooting?” asked Peter. He looked at Hank, watching the man and forgetting that his physics teacher was in the room. He needed to know, even though it was so personal. Mr. Soffelus has held up well today. He could be trusted. 

“Being tortured by the government was worse than a few children with guns,” said Hank. “This makes complete sense. It’s not callous. You have completely different life experiences than your classmates. Seven kids with guns or Mysterio trying to take Queens off the map? Mysterio or Steve Rogers, dressed as Captain America, telling you that he had the legal and moral right to torture you? Children with guns shooting at you or highly trained SHIELD agents with guns watching you take a leak? There is no contest. Your classmates are going to be completely traumatized; you’ll just be heartbroken. Do yourself a favor: act traumatized, the kids at your school are going to be thrown for a loop. If they see you have no PTSD, you are going to be even more alien than you already are to them. And, if it all goes to hell, remember that we will always have a place or you at school. No one will expect you to use honorifics. Don’t have to call Charles ‘Professor Xavier’. We won’t treat you like one of the kids, but we’ve got your back for education. It’ll be peer tutelage, not teacher-student. Your commute will suck, but you’re already friends with the student body and staff, and you can get all the grades to get into ESU. If need be, you stay over a few nights a week: you already have a room. You know the food is good as long as Scott’s not in charge. You’re gonna get your Ph.D. That horrible girl does not get to take away your future. But the shooters may have screwed up your last couple of years at Midtown SciTech.” 

Peter nodded, “Do you guys have AP and IB classes? Because I’m on track to do a bunch of both. I want to go to ESU with credits under my belt.”

“Yeah, we offer them; don’t worry. You’re going to ESU. And if you start having nightmares,” Hank started, but Peter shook his head.

“Not the worst thing I have ever seen. I wasn’t afraid of the shooters, just horrified at the price of that damage,” said Peter.

Hank nodded, “I completely believe that. Saw the video of you reprimanding one of them. This didn’t scare you; it just made you angry. Getting shot didn’t scare you; it pissed you off. You didn’t even realize you were bleeding until the end. You walked to that firetruck on a mangled ankle on pure adrenalin and rage. But the fact that you had to decide to go up or down those stairs? The fact that Cindy and Abe were on the ground floor while you went up? The new scar on the leg Steve destroyed? I think you might resume your nocturnal trips to the boat. If you start feeling phantom pain in your hip, feeling cold on hot days, start having a psychosomatic limp — you tell me. No one will think any less if this stress, guilt and sadness ramp your nightmares back up. It’s only been a year since you were tortured. Your ankle looked perfect when we pieced it back together but might scar. I’m sorry. It was bad enough to possibly scar. If it hurts, let me know, and we will resume your rehab.” Peter opened his mouth to protest. “I know you hate it. But Bruce and I will upgrade your obstacle course: new, improved with more bits on fire. Your hand definitely needs rehab, but you’re ambidextrous, so it shouldn’t mess up finals. It’s not going to scar, but you got shot right through the palm. It shattered your bones. It’s not going to scar because it went straight through, unlike your ankle, which went in at a weird angle.” Hank took his good hand and held his wrist, looking at his watch to take Peter’s pulse. “Ned’s fine, he’s good, MJ has been back and forth between your room and Ned’s. The shooter that wasn’t conscious is now. His parents are still shouting about suing. Matt Murdoch is basically daring them.”

“Matt,” Peter groaned, “never knows when to stop, that man.”

“He loves you, and he will murder for you,” Hank shrugged. “Y’know how he is. Hell, that man tutors Johnny for you.”

“Johnny is brilliant, he just needs some help with Spanish. I need everyone to stop teasing Johnny; he buys into it. He was shocked when he got a fifteen-ninety on his SATs because he believes the teasing. Johnny is crazy smart. And Matt has been helping me with Spanish for two years,” said Peter. “What are we going to do about safety? My name is out there.”

“Luke is spending the night there. Stephen is already there; he’ll be back. Charles is taking some of our people in the morning. They are upgrading your security, and he said once Reed gets back, they are going to hook Karen into a visual and data input system to watch the house. All taken care of. Worry about nothing. We have you. We opened you up stem to stern to pull your broken ribs out of your lungs and push some organs back into the right spot. You were healing as we went. You’re doing way, way, way better than after SHIELD almost tortured you to death. But it was still very serious. Dr. Doom made a YouTube announcement with Scorpion and a few others, saying that Spider-Man is sixteen and not to be engaged, and Peter Parker is a kid who is off-limits and that families are never to be touched. You’re under their protection. Not even supervillains are going to your house. After your eighteenth birthday, they will punch you in the face. But they will never mail a bomb to May.”

“What about Magneto? He’s usually in that group. Am I off-limits to the Brotherhood?”

Hank smiled, “All Magneto ever wanted was to be left alone. He talks about mutant superiority so that when it got to haggling, he could get what he really wanted: equality. All those laws that are being struck down and repealed? All the good things in the works? He called up Charles last week, they went out for coffee. Pending any governmental mess-ups, the Brotherhood of Mutants is done. They’re out. All they ever wanted was to be equal under the law and, if those bills pass, we’re in clover. You don’t need protection from the Brotherhood — it doesn’t exist. He wrote Shadowcat a very nice letter, and he ended up having a long phone conversation with her grandfather. We popped several bottles of champagne at school after the kids went to bed. So, you relax and heal. No one is coming to your house. Good news is, despite pulling you open, you’re not going to scar. You got medical treatment fast this time. It’s not like when the Federal government and Steve Rogers tortured you. May’s in the waiting room, talking to MJ’s parents. We wanted to let you talk to your favorite teacher.” Hank smiled at Mr. Soffelus. “MJ’s parents are nice; I like them and Ned’s. Real nice people. Not freaking out about you, which is cool. But, I mean, Ned’s parents have been cool about him dating Shadowcat, so it’s not completely unexpected. What happened to your shoulder? I’ve never asked, but you have a scar there that you shouldn’t have. It takes a lot to scar you, and it’s too new to be pre-powers.”

“Stabbed. Let Jess stitch it. She wasn’t sober. Bad idea, shoulda just let it heal by itself, but I had lost some blood, and she was very enthusiastic about helping. She made a real mess of it. When Daredevil took out the stitches, he suggested cutting open the wound, he thought it might heal better left to itself even after being reopened. But that made me squeamish. Which, of course, he made fun of me for.”

“Spidey, first rule of dealing with Daredevil and medical advice?” 

“He has no self-preservation, so never take his advice because his plan for self-care is to pray and vomit up blood for a few days in the basement of a nunnery and see if he gets better or dies.”

“Correct. I know that the stabbing was before Steve Rogers broke your leg and before I was your doctor. But, please: never, ever, take Daredevil’s medical advice. You’re almost better off with Grey’s Anatomy. That man puts far too much weight behind prayer and optimism. One time he broke his leg, and he fobbed me off when I offered to set it by saying, ‘Nah, I’m fine. I’ve got to go to confession anyway.’ And first rule of dealing with Jessica?”

“Don’t reward her with helpful tasks when she’s drunk,” said Peter. “But she wanted to help.”

Hank sighed, “This is why everyone likes you. You’re friends with literally everyone. You talked Deadpool into therapy.”

“Deadpool can be amazing if he gets some help. He isn’t a bad person. He told me you’re really helping him and he’s sleeping better. There are worse things than being buddies with everyone and having a little scar left over. Also, you hadn’t even met Daredevil or Jessica until I introduced you. A little scar is a small price to pay for having more friends than anyone else and being able to introduce them to each other,” Peter shrugged. “The shooters had friends… Seven boys on the lacrosse team… I always thought Elliot Davis and Peter Epstein were nice. They were nothing but nice to me.”

“Well, they shot you, so I’m not sure how actually nice they were,” said Hank. 

“They shot a lot of people, Hank, we’re up to thirty-seven dead. I lost three friends. I don’t know who else. I’m so tired I can’t-”

“Spidey, that’s not for tonight,” said Hank firmly. “Tonight, you rest. You had three friends stolen from you. Three of your normal friends who should have been safe. Nothing could have prepared you for that. We all think our homo sapien friends are safe. None of us are prepared to lose our civilian friends. You saved a school load of people, Pete, that’s what you need to remember. Mr. Soffelus, you should go home to your family. No school tomorrow, but it’s gone one in the morning,” Hank smiled at him gently, the way he did with distraught civilians. “I’ve got Spider-Man. Thirty-nine superheroes consider him a close personal friend. We don’t see him as a child; we just see our friend — a hero. We take care of our own. And the rest of our community think he’s just delightful. We have him.” He started showing Mr. Soffelus out and said, “Pete, get some sleep. I’m gonna get MJ a cot. May will be in in a little while. Lucky is safe, there’s nothing else to do; get some sleep.” 

Peter kept stroking MJ’s hair, closing his eyes, he breathed out slowly. He tried to sleep, he did. Three of his friends were dead. He had MJ, Ned and his super friends. He had May and the cops. He tried not to think of the dead. He curled down in bed to be closer to MJ. He had thought this would be a better year. But, life is a circular driveway. You could never get away from your own problems. He had soaring highs, was friends with royalty and aliens. He saved lives and helped people for hours every day. He had action figures and race bets. And he had a broken leg, missing organs, scars from stab wounds poorly stitched and now two gunshot wounds and a chest that had been peeled open. He had lost opportunities, dead friends and no secret identity. A big life wasn’t always easy. And he had two big lives as both Peter and Spidey. He had three dead friends. MJ was safe, Ned was healing. Now, all he could do was see how far he could go down the road he wanted to be swinging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few examples:
> 
> Me: *trying to do anything*  
> My tired, brokeass brain: I’m covered in my own blood, Madison, walk away.
> 
> Karen: I want to return these.  
> Me: Ma'am, the store closed an hour ago, you don't have a receipt and we haven't sold these pants since 2003.  
> Karen: I’m covered in my own blood, Madison, walk away and get me the manger.


	3. Chapter 3

He wasn’t back at school on Monday because there was no school. The building was too smashed up. They didn’t want the student body to walk into the crime scene. Peter’s life felt like a crime scene. There were personal photos all over the internet, taken from Ned’s Instagram. He had been shot and didn’t lock his until after his surgery. Photos before that had already made the rounds because Johnny was in them were suddenly focused on Peter. 

There was a Tumblr with nothing but pictures of him walking Lucky in his Spider-Man onesie. The bio on it said, “I always saw this kid walking his dog in a onesie and thought it was the most pure, wholesome ‘boys will be boys’ thing ever. He has full conversations with his dog and acts like his dog is responding. The talks are littered with praise for the good boy. People didn’t believe me when I told them, so I started taking pictures to prove he existed. Turns out, I was just taking pictures of Spider-Man.” Some of the pictures had MJ and Ned walking with him and Lucky.

School newspaper articles he had written during his very short stint on the staff were all over Pinterest. There was a lot of racist shit being said about both Ned and MJ. Pictures of his school friends showed that he was in a group with a lot of races, and people said he clearly had problems with his race because he only hung out with “freaks” and “racial epitaphs.” Except, of course, they didn’t say “racial epitaphs.” 

He asked Karen if she and JARVIS could collaborate to find it all and send it to the posters’ siblings, in-laws, parents and grandparents. He posted a short message on all of his platforms, “To the people saying vile, repugnant things about my friends, I really hope your parents and grandparents share your views because the two smartest AIs in existence are combing through the internet to share your posts with your families. Remember, citizens, you have freedom of speech, but you are not excused from being judged for your hateful words. Some of the children you are calling racial slurs are dead. Please stop actively making this situation worse.” 

The picture of Peter holding MJ bridal style was everywhere; it made him happy because they looked so great together, but it also hurt so badly. He loved his mask, his two lives. He didn’t like that there were pictures of them where she was wearing a sweatshirt she didn’t like that was covered in blood.

There were funerals all the time. Forty people were dead. It was the first day he was really up and around, and he spent a large portion of the day in a church, listening to the eulogy for Cindy. The team sat together. Their parents were also all in their own group. Peter had a cane and would have it for the rest of the week. His ears stuck out a foot from his head without hair to hide them. He had incision scars, but at least he wasn’t in bandages. He was standing.

No one on the team had made it weird, Flash had stayed far away from him. Cindy’s friends from dance team were there, including Betty. Ned was still in hospital, but Peter sat between Charles and MJ. They walked the two blocks to the cemetery and watched the graveside service. Mrs. Moon came over to them. She touched his cheek, “You were so brave, Peter.”

He swallowed hard a couple of times, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Moon, I’m so sorry. She was downstairs, and I went up because there were more guns up than down. If I had gone down. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, “Seven people owe me an apology; you are not one of them. You were so brave. You went toward the most guns. You don’t apologize, Peter.” She sniffed and bought herself a moment to compose herself. Looking at the team, she said, “We’re having just some close family and friends come over. I would really like it if you guys came and — before you scramble to think of excuses — you don’t have to be good guests or on best behavior. You can treat it exactly like you used to when you hung out: grab food and drinks and go hang out in her bedroom. See, her room is filled with books. And some of them are from the library, and some of them are yours. I don’t know which are which. But I just… in six months, I’ll get a bill from the New York Public School System demanding money for my dead baby’s overdue library books, and I just would really appreciate it if you could help me. Please?”

“Of course, Mrs. Moon,” said MJ. 

They left their parents at the cemetery went. In her room, they started going through the shelves, reclaiming their own books, and gathering the school’s. Cindy’s cat miscalculated the distance between her dresser and her bed, and Peter said, “Bundy, you have never managed to span the gap. Why do you keep trying?” Bundy came and rubbed himself against Peter’s legs. Peter picked him up the way he liked, held him like a baby being burped. 

Charles cracked a book, “The title Caesar was used predominantly between the reigns of which two Roman emperors?”

“Augustus and Hadrian,” said Peter. They all started quizzing each other, just messing about with trivia. It was easy to forget — for just a little while — the horror. It was Cindy’s nice bedroom, Bundy was making his rounds to be cuddled. It was easy to just relax. Even Flash wasn’t being a dick.

But maybe they got too relaxed because the bedroom door opened just as Charles called out, “Battle of Spicheren during the Franco-Prussian War!” Looking up, they saw Mr. Moon, and Charles said, “Oh, oh, I am so sorry.”

The man shook his head, “It’s actually really nice — hearing little snatches of you guys preparing for Nationals. It’s sweet. She loved that game you play. Personally, I can’t see the joy in taking that many tests for fun, but she always said, ‘Dad, in a decade I will win every bar trivia night I ever enter.’ Hearing you guys is the first thing that’s felt normal in a long time.”

“She would have,” said MJ, “she was so good and so fast on the bell.”

“Yeah,” The man looked away, biting his lip, sniffing a few times. Finally composed, he said, “I just wanted to see if you guys were still good for drinks and snacks.”

“We’re good,” said Peter. “We’re mostly finished with the books.”

“We took Ned’s,” said MJ. “We can get those back to him, and we’ll handle the library books. We also sorted out and Abe and Sally’s books. Do you want us to take them?”

Shaking his head, Mr. Moon said, “No, we’ll be seeing their parents soon. Thank you for going through them. It seemed horribly daunting.”

“It’s not a problem at all,” said Flash, for once being nice.

By the time they left, after hugging Mrs. Moon, Peter was shattered, holding on by a thread. All he wanted was to sit quietly and not put on a brave face. On the curb, Johnny was waiting in his VW bus. “What are you?” he started to ask, confused. 

“MJ texted. Eugene, you and I are on a temporary truce. Team, we’re gonna swing around your apartments so you can grab swimsuits and go to Queens. Today is the day we erect the splash pad at the Parkers' house. And you are all invited. You have all been keeping it together, and on best behavior, so now we’re going to go cool off from this fucking heat in a place where you can totally cry without your dead friend’s parents comforting you. Word to the fucking wise, Eugene: Peter’s house has a swear jar. And even guests have to pay in, but May is probably not enforcing it because everyone is living in a personal hell. Get in, losers: we’re going to Queens.” They climbed in, Peter taking shotgun. He breathed very slowly. They headed to Charles’ house and, while they were waiting outside, Johnny said, “You hanging in there?”

“I went up because there were more guns upstairs,” said Peter, breathing slowly. 

“We’ve all had that equation, Pete,” said Johnny. Then, glancing around, he said, “Well, no, in this car, only you and I have done it but, usually, when we are surrounded by friends, everyone in the group has done that math. It’s very simple fucking math: you go toward the biggest threat. It’s not that you made ‘a’ call or ‘the best’ call: you didn’t have a choice. There is no call to make; you go toward the worst thing.”

“Abe and Cindy were on the ground floor,” said Peter.

Johnny nodded, “And none of the rest of the team were. If you had gone to the first floor, maybe MJ would have died on the floor above you.” He shook his head, “I don’t know how to be supportive here. You’ve done this. It ain’t your first gruesomely violent scene causing mass casualty that you had to handle solo in a closed environment. While I want to be supportive, you know and already believe everything I’m going to say. So what do I say or do to make any of it better?”

“It’s very simple math,” agreed Peter. “I went up because going up was the right thing to do. I have done it before, and I will do it again. But… it’s the first time I’ve known the people who were the victims.”

Johnny nodded, “Here’s the real question: seven gunmen, and you’re on the second floor with one gunman, five are above you, one below, which way do you go?”

“Up,” said Peter.

“Two of your close friends are on the first floor, which way do you go?”

“Up.”

“Two of your close friends are going to die, which way do you go?” asked Johnny.

“Up,” Peter said, with a heavy sigh, “you go up toward five guns, because the amount of time ascending the stairs back after going down will kill more people. That’s twenty-six extra seconds of shooting for five guns.” 

“It’s the simplest math possible,” agreed Johnny. 

“I miss my friends,” said Peter. 

“Of course you do,” said Johnny, “you’re not a sociopath.” They wound around the city, grabbing swimsuits. In front of Flash’s giant house in Jamaica, Johnny whistled, “Well, no wonder he’s such an asshole. Kids who grow up in places like this expect people to genuflect.”

“Don’t you, like, own a building?” asked Charles.

“I grew up in my aunt’s boarding house, which was a borderline flophouse. Sue fought for custody when she was in college, and then we lived in a one-bedroom apartment in student housing where when you went to the bathroom at night, you turned the light in the bathroom on and then counted to ten so that all the cockroaches ran away. You had to light the stove with a match, and the oven took a knack. It was only later that she met a rich dirty old man who became her sugar daddy.”

“He was twenty-four,” said Peter. 

“Dirty old man,” repeated Johnny, “who, by the way, made you a raspberry icebox cake.”

“That’s really nice of him,” said Peter. 

“That’s ‘cause Reed is preternaturally nice and thoughtful,” agreed Johnny. “And we were off-planet for the second time you really needed back up, so we’re all feeling pretty guilty.”

“Daredevil was fifteen blocks away, and he couldn’t get there in time,” said Peter. “None of our people could.”

“Double D can’t fly. I coulda got there,” replied Johnny, showing Reed wasn’t the only one feeling guilty. “Instead, I was on the moon dealing with Crystal’s bullshit. I honestly thought, when we broke up, I wouldn’t have to deal with the royal family anymore.”

“Oh, Johnny, that was a little naïve,” said Peter. “She was mean, petty and mercurial before you started dating. How did you think it was going to improve?” 

“SATs are over, Peter, we don’t need to use words like ‘mercurial’ anymore,” Johnny replied.

“It means,” started one of the younger members of the team.

Johnny interrupted, “Woah there. I’m pretty, not dumb, just ribbing my bestie so I don’t have to admit that dating the princess of the moon was a shitty idea.”

They didn’t need to stop at MJ’s because her suit was at the house. The three freshmen on the team and Flash had never been to his house. Cindy, Sally and Abe had, and they were gone. Charles was the only one left who had been to his house, and he hadn’t been since the redesign of Peter’s bedroom. Flash got in, and they started to drive to Peter’s. “I need two seconds to hide certain things in my room,” Peter told everyone.

“They know you’re you. Taking your organs and unreleased figures off the shelf won’t help,” said MJ.

“It’s pictures of future X-Men without masks, kids who are still following privacy protocol. It’s Ice and Cat laughing on the splash pad. It’s pictures from New Year’s.” said Peter. 

“How is Cat doing?” asked Johnny.

“She’s a wreck,” said Peter. “Who isn’t? Who isn’t? We all got shot at,” he gestured around the car. “And Cat’s boyfriend isn’t okay enough to go to our friends’ funerals. Ned’s not allowed to move because the bullet was too close to his femoral artery. Everyone is a wreck.” To the team, he said, “You’ll love the splash pad. You can cry as much as you like and no one knows. There is water going everywhere, no one sees tears.”

“No, we know,” said MJ, “we just politely pretend it’s normal that you suddenly sit down, stop talking and Johnny starts stretching your leg.”

“No, no one knows,” Peter insisted. “You can cry as much as you like, guys, and no one knows. Don’t listen to MJ. No one knows you’re crying. It’s great. We’re gonna set it up: very cathartic.”

“How is your ankle?” asked Johnny.

“It is what it is,” Peter shrugged. “Charles, how is your thigh?”

“How are we going to get Abe into that fucking church on Wednesday when I’m limping, and you have a cane?” asked Charles.

The two of them and Flash were supposed to be three of the pallbearers. “If I stand between you and Flash, I can take the weight of our side,” said Peter. “Are we doing shoulder or waist carry? I’d rather we do shoulder to keep the weight off my healing hand.”

“That’s up to the funeral director,” said Flash. “It’s really going to depend on how tall his YMCA friends are. So, Ned’s dating a girl named Cat? I thought he was texting about selling his comic books. Why wouldn’t be brag about having a girlfriend? It’s Ned.”

“Eugene, remember: we’re on a truce, but you get mean about my friends and it’s over,” warned Johnny. “He’s dating Shadowcat. But it’s better to stay under the radar when you’re dating a superhero, even one that’s in training.”

“Wait, Shadowcat?” repeated Flash.

“Honestly, the fact that you bought that he was selling his comics blows my mind,” said Johnny. “Ned is more likely to sell both his kidneys and Peter’s remaining one before parting with his books. Him dating a trainee X is way easier to get your head around than him willingly parting with a single issue.”

Flash thought about it and then said, “Huh, Jesus. Ned has a super-hot girlfriend.”

“Coffee’s hot women are beautiful,” corrected Peter. They pulled up to the house, and Peter sighed, “It’s going to be a long week.”

“Can I use the driveway?” asked Johnny. “This thing is a bitch to parallel park.”

“Make sure we can open the garage door. The material for the splash pad is in there.” 

Johnny did as asked. “Run upstairs and hide my gorgeous boyfriend’s face.”

“That Tumblr that's pictures of Pete in a onesie is sure to show Ice at some point. He and Cat have walked Lucky enough,” said MJ.

“If they had a picture of Shadowcat, they would have already posted it,” said Peter. “Her face is famous now.” Peter unlocked the garage and handed Johnny the lock. “I’m going to go clean out the evidence.” He clonked his way up the front stairs with his cane and called, “Hey! I’m home.” May came, now in jeans and a tank. Lucky leaped up to say hello, “Hi, handsome. I missed you.” He kissed Lucky’s forehead, “Good boy, so good, I gotta go hide pictures of my friends.”

“Why?” asked May.

“I don’t want the team to see any X friends without masks,” said Peter.

“The team?” asked May. “They’re here? Johnny said he was going to ‘pick up the gang.’ I thought he meant you and MJ.”

“Nah, gang’s all here. Well, what’s left. That okay?”

“We’ll order pizza,” said May. “You guys should be together today. This is good. Johnny said he would take you and MJ to the hospital after dinner to visit Ned and pick up Cat for a sleepover.” 

“I’m gonna go and take the photos down,” He kissed May’s cheek as he passed. “I love you.” It was important to say it often, everyone kept dying.

“Love you too,” she said as he headed up the stairs. It was easy to take down the photos and hide them in the bottom drawer of his desk. He changed into his swimsuit while he was up there and pulled MJ’s out of the drawer. Going out to the team, he saw May had already set them up with a pitcher of lemonade and said, “MJ, I found your swimsuit. It’s on the bed.” He helped put up the pergola and anchor it into place. They had two baby pools this year, in deference to the fact that Lucky would monopolize one. With all of them working together, it took less than fifteen minutes to get it set up. Peter took the hose and said, “I’ll fill the pools while you guys change.” They left Peter to his task, leaning on his cane.

Johnny remained, “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” said Peter.

“Are you sure? Because you haven’t cried,” said Johnny.

“I got verklempt at the funeral,” said Peter.

“You know what I mean,” said Johnny.

“Spider-Man doesn’t cry. Peter Parker is the crier. I haven’t been just Peter Parker since my extra sense said ‘shooting.’ The danger hasn’t passed,” said Peter. “Everyone knows I’m me and my rogues gallery may have put me off-limits, but that doesn’t stop some angry civilian from hurting May, or some racist hurting Ned or MJ because they’re angry that my friends group is all different races. My mouth has tasted of adrenaline since Wednesday. I’m not at the crying phase yet. I’m still in crisis mode. It’s really messing with my sleep… I actually kind of forced myself to tear up at the funeral. It would look weird if I didn’t. Cindy was a really good friend, but I don’t feel anything by anxious and nervy.”

“Well, Cat and I will be here tonight, maybe that will help you get some sleep.”

“I’m here too, Peter,” said Karen from one of the tiny sensors on the fence. “No one gets past the street without me knowing, and you and every superhero will know the minute they do.” 

“I know, Karen, thank you. It’s okay if you’re not okay too, Johnny,” said Peter. “I introduced you to nice people, and then Ned had the gall to get shot.”

Johnny smiled, “Yeah, what a dick… you just kinda forget how breakable the homo sapiens are. We wear armor, and they’re just out there. It’s scary to be friends with normal people… I’m really sorry about your friends, Pete, and I really relieved that Ned is alive.” He breathed out and said, “My dad sent me my car back, that’s one tiny piece of good news.”

“That’s great,” Peter nodded, “Did he send himself back with the car?” 

Johnny shook his head, “But, at this point, if he doesn’t want to be friends, it’s his loss. I’m awesome. Sue is awesome. Reed and Ben are awesome. He’s the loser in the equation if he chooses not to be a part of it.”

Nodding Peter said, “I couldn’t agree more. And, honestly, I’ve never met him, but anyone who doesn’t want to know you isn’t worth spit. I’m happy you got your favorite car back.”

“Me too, I realized I was really okay with his leaving when I felt so relieved at seeing my car that I didn’t even think about the fact that he had it shipped instead of driving it back. My family is awesome.”

“Some might even say fantastic,” Peter deadpanned. 

“That is a terrible joke.”

“I’m known for one-liners, Johnny, not good one-liners,” said Peter. 

May came out, “Looking good, gents. What’s going on out here?”

“Telling Pete that I’m washing my hands of my deadbeat dad. He sent my car back. If he turns up, I’ll see if I can make time for him, but I’m not going to change my life to accommodate someone who has made absolutely no effort to get to know me.” Charles came outside, and Johnny said, “And that is the end of that discussion for the evening, please?”

“Of course it is, sweetheart, but if you want to talk anymore?” asked May.

“I’m gonna be totally honest, May, because I love and respect you. It goes Reed, Sue, Peter, Ben and then you: smartest person I know, the constant, the bestie, the asshole big bro, and the outside view who loves me. Sometimes Ben comes first because he’s two doors down and on the left. Sorry.”

“No, you kidding? Fifth, out of that five is still good.”

“Gonna put on a swimsuit?” asked Johnny.

“In front of the team?” she shook her head. “That’s a family thing. Are you going to change?” She gestured at his clothes.

“Imma do my joke,” Johnny explained. “Kinda want the whole gang here. They need a laugh. It’s a laugh at my expense, but I will take it.” 

When everyone came out, Johnny ripped off his tearaway pants, and it was funny. But then Flash was staring at Peter’s leg, and it made him feel awkward as all get out. Before they had been busy building. “Jesus, Parker.”

“Yeah, first Steve Rogers and then someone with a gun. I don’t know which one.” Now, everyone was looking, and he wanted to find something to cover his leg with.

“Elliot Davis shot your ankle; Anthony Dean shot your hand,” said Karen. “I’m pretty sure Elliot Davis caused the two brain bleeds Stephen had to stem, and I think the damage to your bladder. Anthony Dean did most of the damage to your ribs that called for Hank to pull fragments out of your lungs.”

“That sounds so much worse than what Hank said,” said Peter.

“They washed out your whole body cavity because you were filled with so many bone fragments,” said Karen. “Bone shrapnel.”

“Karen, I know you don’t have a bank account or material desires,” said MJ, “but I will pay to never hear bone shrapnel again.” 

“You’ve been hanging around Peter for so long,” said Karen. “Offering to pay people not to use words is his thing. Sometimes Ice says it. But I think he picked it up from Peter. I don’t accept bribes, but I’ll happily not repeat it. Mostly because I don’t want to.”

“They rinsed bone out of me?” said Peter, horrified. He sank down onto the splash pad, breathing slowly. Looking at MJ, he said, “Did you know about this?”

“I shouted at Bruce,” she admitted. She moved into a handstand on the splash pad. “He was talking to May about ‘ventral cavity lavage.’ And I ended up telling him off and saying that we go to a smart kid school but that nothing he was saying was real words. He explained that they were rinsing your organs off as they worked. After he went back to the OR, my dad told me off for reprimanding the Hulk, but I wasn’t; I was telling off a friend who I’ve waltzed with while he was shitfaced. By then, we were into hour four.”

“Bruce was in my surgery?”

“Yeah, he got there thirty minutes in,” said MJ, righting herself. “The head of the surgical unit didn’t want him in there because he’s not a medical doctor, but, like, she and May are friends?”

“She begged May not to quit five times because of Stephen. Eventually, Ben told her to save her own sanity and go to Sacred Saints instead. Better commute. Christine and May always liked each other,” agreed Peter. “Christine has been over for dinner.”

“Dad was very confused for the first few hours and overwhelmed I’m not even sure if it was seeing me covered in your blood, or the shooting or you being Spider-Man.” She moved into a split. “He was in shock. He asked me maybe ten times why I had blood on me and if I knew I was dating Spider-Man. When he started scolding me like a child for my tone with Bruce, Mom just took him away. I think they went to a Starbucks. And she clearly got through to him because he was a lot calmer by the time they got back.”

“‘Your daughter is covered in Peter’s blood, Madison, walk away,’” said Johnny. 

“Exactly,” said MJ. “God, I’ve missed the splash pad. Fourth time Bruce came out, he was talking about your spleen, and Dad didn’t say a word when I asked if real hospitals let you keep organs in jars. Bruce promised that they would pay no attention to hospital regulations and keep your spleen for you if it had to come out. But it didn’t.”

“Thanks for getting the promise,” said Peter.

“They’re your organs. Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean they suddenly don’t belong to you.”

“Why keep your organs?” asked one of the younger members of the team, it was the very first question any of them had asked about Spider-Man.

“I turned up on the doorstep of the Xavier School, having lost a third of my body weight. They found out that a good friend of theirs, someone they respected and knew well, was fifteen. It’s a school, all of my friends realized that they — teachers — were pals with a kid and that that kid turned up half-dead saying that the Avengers and the Federal government tortured him. Priority one for them was ‘try not to shatter the traumatized husk of a child you thought was in his twenties.’ Everything got a silver lining: you got tortured, but you get a whole sheet cake to yourself. You lost an organ, but you get to keep it in a jar. Your kidney’s dead but, hey, second cool jar. You can’t walk, but Logan is manning the grill. The bastards pled guilty and were excused from actually having to think about what they did, but Remy is going to let you eat his whole candy stash. At this point, having a third organ in a jar would just be kind of comical. Do I really need a spleen? Or a gallbladder? I could end up with four on that shelf.”

“Please, Pete, try to keep them inside if only for May’s sanity,” said Johnny. Then he said, “Okay, I’m going for it. I’m going for it.” 

“Stand back,” said MJ, “last time Johnny attempted this, he kicked Ned in the face.”

“I’m scaling it down. Sometimes I get confused because Peter is my brother and I get confused because he’s an acrobat and I just fly around on fire. I start thinking I can do crazy flips too.” He rolled his shoulders, took a few steps back, breathed out and took three steps. He did three pretty good somersaults before landing hard on his back.

“Y’okay?” asked Peter without moving.

“Yeah, ouch, I’m fine.”

Lucky came out looked around cautiously before settling on Peter’s lap, “They’re nice, you can say hi. No?” he asked, Lucky just settled more firmly on top of him. “He’s nervous around strangers; he’ll warm up.”

They spent the afternoon playing. But Peter mostly lazed, ankle still healing. He did his kinda painful hand exercises the whole time. Lucky also mostly lazed, usually on top of Peter except when MJ or Johnny sat down, then he swapped to their laps instead. They talked a lot about how they were feeling, Johnny staying mostly unobtrusive at those times. People were talking about what they hated most other than their friends dying. “I just hate guns. I want to wake up tomorrow in a world where guns don’t exist. I don’t want sensible gun laws. I just want them gone. I saw Uncle Ben get shot, I have been shot thirty-nine times, I have been shot at far more than that. I hate guns and, I’m sure some people would call it un-American, but I have absolutely no respect for anyone who likes them. So I hate guns. And I hate Marie Jennings because she has endangered May and everyone I care about. There is now a bullseye of school, it’s possible I won’t be able to stay and colleges might say that their liability insurance doesn’t cover having supers on campus. And I don’t like that there is a Tumblr of me in my comfy onesie because like walking Luck in my onesie but I can’t do that anymore because I am a public figure now and public figures don’t walk around in their own merch no matter how comfy it is.” 

“I fucking hate that we missed Nationals,” said MJ. “And I know I shouldn’t; I know it’s selfish, but I… it’s all we worked for so long. And our friends died and we really coulda won. We had such a good chance, we won all our comps by such large margins, we were so prepped, and now… it was a nine-year streak. We were going to win for ten years running. And, instead, we just keep going to funerals. I just wanted to keep it going and now,” She shook her head and shrugged. 

“Do you think Tabitha will go to Mr. Harrington’s funeral?” asked Charles.

“Mr. Harrington is dead?” asked Peter, sitting up from where he’d been lounging in a puddle. “Seriously? He had such a sad life. All he had was school.”

“We’ve been rationing out names to Peter,” explained MJ. “He was in front of a closet, he had just shut the door behind some of his kids. Other kids were hiding in the big cupboards under the lab tables. His kids said he really scrambled. He was the only person in the class to — no one else got shot. They said he acted really fast and that he was… His family requested that students not go to the funeral; they thought it was too sad or…” She tilted her head back to the spray, letting it wash her face get washed off. “This splash pad is amazing because no one knows your crying.”

“Are you crying right now?” asked Peter. “I had no idea.”

“Thank you,” said MJ. 

Looking at Peter, Johnny said, “How long have you been doing your hand exercises?”

“Like, three hours,” said Peter. 

“Cut that shit out right now,” said Johnny, no joke in his voice. “You know, you fucking know, that if you overdo it, you can cause repetitive stress damage.”

Peter looked away, “I just want it to stop hurting.”

Johnny was suddenly crouching in front of him, “Gimme, your hand.” Peter did, and Johnny felt it, looking it over and turning it. He gently pressed on the palm of his hand, and Peter almost screamed. Johnny took his other hand and felt it the same way. “Karen, should people’s hands feel identical? Pete’s got a really hard lump in the palm of his injured hand, and that’s what hurts.”

“Hm,” said Karen, “I don’t know, and the internet isn’t helpful. I’m calling Hank.”

“Don’t be a snitch,” said Peter.

May came out the backdoor, “How long has your hand been hurting?”

“Karen, you are such a snitch,” said Peter.

“I know, right?” said Karen, not sounding repentant, “Also, Hank says Ned’s really tired and asked you guys to check if he’s online later, but he’s tired, so Hank is bringing Cat here. They were already driving over. Team, listen up, only assholes treat people differently because they deviate from the normal spectrum. You will be nice, or I will get into the computer system at school and make sure you’re hardest class next year is at just before lunch when you’re hungry and fractious and don’t want to study. Shadowcat’s name has neither been confirmed nor denied by the Xavier school. You’ll call her Cat and be friendly and include her, or you’re going to regret it. Am I making myself completely clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they all chorused. 

“I’m so sorry I suck so much, Peter,” said Karen sarcastically. “May, looking at the monthly family budget, would you like me to go ahead and order Thai, Chinese and pizza? Mix of vegetarian and sane?”

Peter chuckled. “Yeah, Karen, that would be great, thanks,” said May. “Pete, how long has your hand been hurting?”

“Since it got a big ol’ hole in it,” said Peter. “I thought if I just did the exercises, it would get better.”

May felt his hands and said, “That’s not right. Hank is going to want x-rays.”

“Abe’s funeral is Wednesday,” protested Peter. 

Hank came out through the kitchen door and said, “And if you need surgery, we’ll do it Thursday at school.”

“Thank you; I hated the hospital,” said Peter.

“That’s because the minute they see ‘Enhanced’ or ‘Superior’ on a chart, they stop seeing a patient and start seeing a specimen,” said Hank. “I tried to get you the good nurses.”

“The nurses were okay, it was all med students who were disappointed when they found out there wasn’t a chart in my room.”

Hank chuckled, “Yeah, I don’t leave that shit around. ‘Cause I’m not a moron.” Then he grimaced, and pulled out his wallet, “Sorry, May.”

“We’re arranging surgery around Abe’s fucking funeral, Hank,” May said, “The swear jar is upside down on top of the fridge. Peter’s known Abe from NYC Junior Science Fair since sixth grade. The swear jar is on hiatus. Where’s Cat?”

“She went up to Peter’s bedroom to drop stuff off, I think she might be bracing herself for a gathering,” said Hank. “Peter, would you please get off the splash pad and dry off? I want to do a quick check.”

Peter was used to having Hank check him. It didn’t bother him, but he knew the team was watching. Hank asked the usual battery of questions and testing his reflexes. Then he started feeling Peter’s fingers, “Have you been over-exercising this?”

“Yes, significantly,” said Peter, “It makes me feel like I’m doing something even though, logically, I know that’s a bad idea.”

“Well,” Hank thought, “At least you know you’re being an idiot. Which, after two years of friendship: I know that’s your brand. Do you remember when we met?”

Peter did and laughed, “That was my first time taking on Doombots — before I knew how freaking delicate they are.”

“Those things are built to break,” said Johnny. “The only reason they have an impact is that he throws two thousand of them at any one fight.”

“You weren’t there, Johnny, I don’t know where your family was,” said Hank. “But we had heard of a new superhero in town and that it was some grad student-aged person — I kept hearing 26 as the age guesstimate. People were deeply confused by the fact that he talked through every fight, never got winded, seemed to have no ego, was really friendly and loved puns.” He smiled at Peter but was still directing his words to Johnny and the people on the splash pad.

“I mean, that does kinda sound like me,” agreed Peter. “I never get the ‘I work alone’ people. Like, you want to take one hundred percent of the hits? ‘Cause I’m offering to take fifty percent of the hits and finish this in half the time. Is it about getting the collar? Who cares?”

Hank just smiled at him, moving Peter’s wrists. “We heard that there was a Doombot problem down by the river and that you guys were not around,” He said to Johnny. “We go, and we see, as we’re flying, streaks of red and blue around a rapidly growing white orb. We land and realize that Spidey is just grabbing them with webs and gluing them all together into a ball. They are all firing each other because they are dumb robots. And he is just swinging around and around this thing, and he says, ‘Oh hi!’ then he swings around, ‘It’s awesome to meet you guys! Massive fan.’ then he swings around, ‘Dr. McCoy, sir, huge fan of your published work.’ then he swings around, ‘I sure hope this works.’ then swings around, ‘Otherwise, I’m about to be super embarrassed in front of the X-Men.’ And then he just launches the whole ball — which would have filled this yard; it must have been close to a thousand bots — into the Hudson. It shorts out as it hits the water, and he goes, ‘Great! It worked. They had a lot of exposed circuitry. We should probably get that out of there. It’s a hazard for ships. I don’t know how to do that — I don’t have a plan for that, so it’s terrific you’re here. Anyone got an idea? Ms. Grey, could you levitate it out?’ And all of us are just standing there, floored by a guy who took out a thousand bots without getting a scratch and without throwing a punch and has had an entire getting-to-know-you conversation without our participation.” Johnny laughed, head back, relaxed.

“It was eight hundred and eighty-four bots,” said Peter. “They shoot at seven-second intervals and only have a seventeen-foot range. It’s not that hard to avoid getting shot by one as long as you’re calm and can count. And I was afraid of punching them because I thought they would damage my knuckles. I didn’t realize they are essentially made of tin foil. I wasn’t risking hitting an unknown metal of supervillain origins.”

“I love that you took the time to web up eight hundred and eighty-four bots when you weren’t sure it was going to work and without a plan to get it out,” said Hank, chuckling at the memory. He touched Peter’s palm, and Peter almost jumped a foot in the air. “Okay, bad news: that’s a bone out of place. Good news: it’s not urgent enough to deal with tonight. You can hang out with your friends, have your sleepover. Unfortunately, you are going to have to get up early because May is driving Cat to school for first period, and I want x-rays to see what surgery you need. But, silver lining: it’s not your school, so you can just nap in the car and wear your PJs.” People laughed, and Hank looked confused.

“I was telling them how you always try to find silver linings,” explained Peter. 

“You rocked up to the house half dead and just repeating that Captain America broke your leg, not expecting us to believe you,” said Hank. “We all wanted to anything to make things suck just a little less.” Everyone laughed again.

“I told them that was the reason,” said Peter, because they weren’t laughing at the idea of him being a walking corpse. 

“No more tumbling tonight,” ordered Hank. 

“I wasn’t doing any before; I’m letting the ankle rest.”

“Good man. Can I get a blood sample? Your color is wrong, and your pulse isn’t right.”

“Do you want to stay for dinner? We’re ordering. That way, you’ll know that I just ate.”

“I wouldn’t want to crash your wake more than I already have,” protested Hank.

“I’d like some adult company,” offered May.

“Well, I can’t deny you that,” he said with a small smile. 

“We’ll leave you to play,” said May, “and shift Cat.”

“She’s texting Ned,” said Karen. “She changed into her bathing suit, then Ned texted and she’s been texting ever since.”

“Karen,” said Peter, “I know that cameras were put everywhere for safety, but you can’t say what people are doing when they are alone.” 

“Why not?” she asked.

“We’re gonna talk about this later, at length,” said Peter. “Social mores are not your strong suit.”

The adults left, and Johnny spoke softly as he said, “So are they dating?”

“Right?” asked Peter, at the same volume, hobbling back to the splash pad. “I think they both want to be dating, but May’s not ready to date, so they are just hanging out… but, like, a lot. And they text. And I get that she’s not ready, but he’s awesome. And someday I’m going to walk downstairs to breakfast, and there will be a man in the kitchen. If it’s Hank, then that’s not a problem. But, if it’s some guy from work, that’s gonna suck. Like, if it’s my friend, okay. Y’know? It would be weird that he will have seen her naked, but, like, all of you guys also want to see her naked so it wouldn’t be that weird. They have been dancing around each other for a year, but they only met because the federal government tortured me, and I had to tell her I was Spider-Man. And she has the whole husband-murdered-in-front-of-her-secretly-super-powered-child thing that she’s still coming to terms with. So, I don’t know. I want her to be happy, and Hank makes her laugh.”

“Hey,” said Kitty from the door, she looked nervous. Peter hated that she was stressed out by hanging out on the splash pad. 

“Hey,” said Peter. “Team, Cat.” He smiled at her and ran her through introductions finishing by saying, “And they’re on a truce but — as Johnny’s my brother — that guy is Eugene.” 

Kitty gave them a small wave and walked over to settle next to MJ, “How was the funeral?”

“As good as a funeral can be when the last time we got dressed up for her was at her sweet sixteen party in March,” said MJ.

“God, I can’t imagine how you all feel, I’m so sorry. The worst thing that should ever happen at school is a failed test. I can’t imagine how scary it must have been for you all to have the safest place in the world get desecrated.”

“How is Ned?” asked Charles. 

“Bored, angry, sad, uncomfortable,” she shrugged. “He really wanted to be with you today, but they keep saying that if he moves wrong, he could damage his femoral artery and bleed out in minutes.”

“We were going to go over after dinner to pick you up and say ‘Hi,’” said Peter.

She waved him off, “Don’t worry about it. He wasn’t offended. You were with him nine hours ago. How are you? With your face out there?”

"You can’t imagine what it’s like to lose three friends in a day, but you know exactly how I feel.”

“Does FuckYouPeterParker.com exist yet?” she asked, “Because, if not, you should probably brace yourself for it. I one hundred percent guarantee you that some basement dweller will set it up to bitch about how you made the subway late once or victim blame you for Rogers going to prison or for the fact that they can’t masturbate to Black Widow without getting sad.”

“Does that exist for you?” he asked.

“Yeah, current top post is angry at me because Nebraska just made it illegal to evict someone for being a mutant, and this woman is pissed because she wanted to get her upstairs neighbor evicted because they have a better view. She then goes on to talk about the mutant’s partner, who is human and ends with a rant about bestiality… I really shouldn’t read any of it, but I do.”

“I am avoiding the internet completely,” said Peter. “So, maybe it’s already a thing. I stopped the minute I saw a Tumblr that’s purely dedicated to pictures of me walking Lucky in my onesie.” 

“What are you going to wear tonight?” asked MJ.

“I don’t know.” Then he sighed, “I just can’t believe they’re gone and that this is life now. Our friends died, our school has too many holes for us to go there, two hundred people we saw every day were shot. Charles was shot. Ned was shot and now… I just want to walk my dog in my onesie like I do every night, but that life is over.”

Johnny got out of the baby pool where he had been sitting, and steam dried as he walked to his phone, not even damp when he picked it up. Then he dictated as he typed. “Hi, this might sound silly. But I have a favor to ask. Everything sucks for my best friend at the moment. There was a school shooting. Three of his friends and one of his favorite teachers died. He has had one surgery and needs another. His oldest friend is still in the hospital. He did everything he could, and he’s still burying people. 

“On top of that, his name and face are out there. For me, it was different, my whole family got powers and had money that protected us. So we never tried to hide it. He’s just one sixteen-year-old with a normal family, and the stress of having his family in danger is really taking a toll. He can’t be just himself because he’s always had two modes: super and normal. People who know both or either adore him no matter which mode he’s in because he is a wonderful, kind, empathetic human being. But he kept those lives separate for good reasons. And now he’s really torn because which version of himself should he be? And then your Tumblr happened. 

“I am sure you meant no harm when you created it. You’re on Tumblr, which means you’re probably young Millennial or Gen Z. We have been described as fetishizing kindness. We believe that the most important things in life aren’t money or fame but friends, morals and treating each other with all the respect we can muster. He’s hurting. And this blog makes it worse. It’s his first night out of the hospital, and he is stressing over what to wear to walk the dog. It’s chilly enough after dark that he would default to his onesie, but now it might end up on the internet, and superheroes aren’t supposed to wear their own merch. I hope you’ll agree that, as he was at a funeral today, he shouldn’t have to be dealing with this extra worry. 

“This is Tumblr, where I assume everyone is on the same page until proven otherwise. You have the right to free speech and the right to post what you like, but I hope that you’ll reconsider. We’re the generation that thinks dress codes are BS because if a boy can’t concentrate around a girl’s bra straps, then it’s his problem — and a weird problem because bra straps aren’t interesting. We’re the generation that thinks the best way to have a bikini body is to put a bikini on your body. I hope we’re the generation that sees a superhero in his own onesie and thinks that it’s because it’s comfy and just moves on. Just because he is a-okay with his neighborhood seeing him in his jammies doesn’t mean he wants it on the internet. 

“Feel free to post this; I’m absolutely fine with owning the fact that I’m the one asking for this to be shut down. I’m sure you have fans who will be disappointed if you delete the photos, and I am more than happy to be the person they direct their ire at. People thought he was lying when he said he wanted the MSF to make merch because he wanted it for himself. Now they know he wears his own onesie. But knowing that and seeing the proof are different. Please consider deleting these photos. Yours, without malice, Johnny Storm.” Then he looked at Peter, who nodded. “Send,” he said, hitting his thumb on the phone. “Maybe they will, maybe they won’t, but we won’t know if we don’t ask.” He smiled and said, “Cat, y’want me to email your ‘fuck you’ site?”

“It’s not a Tumblr; it’s boomers and Gen X who don’t fetishize kindness it’s all ‘me first and the gimmie gimmies.’” Kitty sighed, “It’s the people who are pissed because they are being told that they are racists and to share the fucking sandbox. All they would do is post your letter and mock it and say that one freak was defending another.” 

He nodded, “Someone finally pointed out on Twitter that I’m not normal. All those people are still bitching that a mutant stole the hot human model, and someone finally said: Johnny Storm’s eyes are wrong, and he is not a normal human. I never pointed it out because then it comes off as defensive, and all of my crazy stans will try to defend me from myself. But someone else finally called them all out on the fact that my eyes are too blue, and they put side by side photos of the Fantastics before and after the solar storm. Reed had brown eyes, Ben had green and Sue and I had dark blue. Now we all have the same, far-too-pale-to-exist-in-nature blue. Normal people don’t survive what we survived, and Ice is the perfect boy. It’s nice to have that argument shut down. He didn’t steal me from them. And no one bitched when I was dating Crystal. No one had a problem when I was dating an alien, so I think a lot of it is just veiled homophobia. Now, they’re getting pissed because I mentioned something about our nine-month anniversary. People who pay far too much attention to the life of a teenager are freaking out because this is about to be my longest relationship, and these internet trolls think that their odds of bedding me are dwindling.”

“Fuck the internet,” said MJ. “In a week they’ll say that our school shooting was faked. There will be conspiracy theories. They will say that Spider-Man never liked guns, and this was set up to make guns look bad. They will say Peter orchestrated it as his coming out party. They will say we were paid mourners. They will claim our friends were stock photos. And that sucks on so many levels, one of which is that I usually love conspiracy theories: the crazier, the better. I mean, those people who think the moon landing was fake are adorable: they believe that the moon exists. I will argue that the moon is a government satellite until I am blue in the face for the sheer joy of the absurdity. And now they are going to say that our trauma isn’t real and that’s not a fun absurdity. I like that the internet thinks modern Hydra was a ploy by SHIELD to drive Steve Rogers insane; I don’t like that they are calling me the n-word and saying that Peter’s picked his friends as a diversity stunt.”

“Modern Hydra is real,” said Johnny. “One of those Nazi bastards bit me when I grabbed his gun away. Definitely real; definitely a Nazi.”

“Maybe they just wanted you to think they were real to help sell it to Rogers,” suggested MJ.

Johnny shook his head, “I’m willing to back you up on the moon thing. Hell, I was there a few days ago, and I will swear I saw a riveted seam where they bound the two halves together. But I’m not going to call Nazis anything but eugenics-loving Nazis.” 

May popped her head out the door and said, “Dinner’s in twenty. Pete, blow-dry Lucky.” 

He went to the porch and said, “Luck, almost food.” Lucky came and obediently let Peter blow-dry him, only occasionally trying to take the blow drier like it was a toy. The others started to head to the house, but he saw Kitty catch Flash’s wrist. 

The others might not think they could hear over the drier, but Kitty knew that he was listening. “Hold up a sec,” she said with a smile. “You and I need a chat.” He looked confused, but she continued, “If you’re pissed after we talk, feel free to bitch at me on the website, but you need someone to say it. You bullied him for years. And his friends are lovely, so nice they welcomed a freak to their wake and worked to include me. None of them made an effort to include you. They told some inside jokes that you were clearly, if unintentionally, excluded from. But you could fix it so easily. All you have to do is stop being a bully. I know that we fall into habits and go with them for a lifetime. It’s easy to just keep going the way we’re going. But you weren’t a dick to me today, which makes me think that underneath you being a prick, there’s a nice guy. 

“The first day of school, you cornered him in a bathroom, outed him and scared the shit outta him. Afterward, there was a mass text going on. Jessica Jones suggested we let Deadpool off you. The only thing that stops him from killing people is worrying that Pete won’t be his friend. If Pete had agreed, you’d be dead; no other superhero was that against it. Pete’s a nice person and — even though he was terrified you might tell the world — he told them not to do it. I hear that you’re rich, and you’re mean and that you buy friends or scare people into sucking up to you. The older you get, the less you can do that. Bullies don’t intimidate grown-ups, and once people start making their own money, offering to buy the pizza doesn’t hold much weight. Ned told me about you; Peter never talks about you because he doesn’t care. Charles Xavier is one of his best friends, and the mean kid doesn’t really hurt him. Steve Rogers broke his leg; you call him Penis Parker: one of these things upsets him. 

“You need to be nicer if you want friends. Peter’s not a cool kid, he just isn’t. But right now, he has all the social capital in the world. Spider-Man forgives you, and the rest of them will fall in line. It will open a door, and you have to do is walk through it and be kind. Having friends is nice. And you could be in there, just apologize and be pleasant. It’s going to take more than one apology; you’re going to end up apologizing to a lot of people. Sure, Peter will wipe the slate clean for some, but your other marks are going to need their own apologies; they deserve them. Everything that has happened to you in the last week is horrible and unfair and gruesomely awful. But, it can be the moment you decide to get your shit together and be part of the team. 

“Accept this advice for what it is: not censure but solid intelligence. Stop being a dick: life is a lot nicer when you have people who want to spend time with you. And, eventually, you could be hanging out on this splash pad for reasons other than a funeral. You’ll have people who cheer when you pull off a cartwheel. If you had done one today, no one would have stopped talking because they aren’t rooting for you. Be nice; have friends; it’s a choice you can make.” She let go of his wrist and said, “As I said, if you’re angry and want to vent, there’s a website you can go to. But I hope you consider making a change. Believe me when I say: the outcome of this talk has no impact on me but could really help you.” He said nothing but nodded, “Okay then, go get dressed.”

He almost scarpered away, and she moved to turn off the hoses. Peter finished blow-drying Lucky and said, “Look at you. So handsome you could win best in show.” Lucky reacted to the tone, wagging his tail so hard that it beat a rhythm on the wood of the porch. Kitty took a step onto the splash pad, and all the water just fell off her body onto the tarp as she did; she had clearly dematerialized for a moment, making the water fall off her incorporeal body. She was left completely dry. “That was awesome!”

“The party trick or me advising the bully?”

“Kinda both, but I was talking about the water.”

“Been training a lot: the life of a future X,” she shrugged, “party tricks are fun and can be useful later.”

They went inside where Peter immediately saw a small pizza box with “good boy special” written on it. “Lucky, you were so good for Luke. And I know how hard it is when May and I aren’t around. So you get your favorite.” Lucky sat obediently waiting, tail wagging at the sight of the box. Peter opened it and put it in front of him. Lucky still sat, looking at Peter. “Go ahead,” he said, and Lucky started eating happily. 

“Is good boy special a real thing?” asked Charles.

“The pizza places we order from know that a small pizza for this house with no onions or garlic is for Lucky,” explained May. “We don’t order small of anything: Peter eats eight thousand calories a day.”

“More, if he’s been doing rehab all day,” added Kitty. “It’s kind of scary and gives me a stomach ache just watching.”

“Okay, y’know what,” said Peter, “you work out for eleven hours in a day and see how hungry you are when you take breaks. Hank, am I going to need more rehab?”

“No, it was a gruesome injury on your leg, but you were well-nourished, warm and received immediate medical attention. Your body took care of the rest. Your healing ability really is incredible when you haven’t been tortured and starved for eight days straight. Keep the cane until Saturday. No Spidering for two weeks after that. But, don’t rush into Spidering until you have a clear head.”

“I think my healing was impressive then too,” said Peter. “I lost almost fifty pounds, was left in a subzero room with a concussion and a broken leg and didn’t die.”

“That definitely would have killed a normal person,” agreed Hank. “But no more rehab. Your certificate of completion is still good.”

“I cannot believe that you made him a graduation certificate from rehab,” said MJ.

“No, I can believe that,” said Johnny. “What I can’t believe is that you printed it out as a five by seven so that it fit in with Peter’s décor.”

“I’ve been in the Spidey Space; I know how it’s decorated,” said Hank with a smile. “And ten months of hard work deserved recognition.”

“I can believe all that,” said Peter. “What I can’t believe is that Scott was willing to sign his name to ‘terrible catering.’”

Hank smiled, seemingly amused at being reminded. “Imagine your friend group doesn’t change for the next thirty years. You think you won’t still be razzing each other for the same stuff you do now? Last Halloween, Logan carved an ugly pumpkin and said, ‘Look, Hank: it’s you.’ No one ever really grows up. You will still make fun of Ned’s easily triggered gag reflex, Johnny’s concern about his hair and Cat’s claims of being the most Jewish person you will ever meet while she chows down on bacon. Scott can’t cook, he never could. He’s had decades of practice, and he still can’t cook. All cooking is is following a list of steps. How is a man that smart incapable of producing the right thing? So I handed him the certificate, explained that I wanted everyone to sign for their role. He looked at it said, ‘Fuck you.’ and signed for terrible catering without asking where I wanted him to sign.”

“I really like your room,” said Charles. “You really committed.”

“Ice suggested it; I was on board; Cat drew it. I love it. It’s like going to bed in the land of make-believe.”

“There’s a hammock on your ceiling,” said Flash. 

“Super useful for sleepovers,” said Peter. “We can easily fit six people and Lucky.”

“Easily is a bit of a stretch,” said May at precisely the same time as Johnny said, “We could fit three more. For one thing: that hammock could sleep another person.”


	4. Chapter 4

They got through Abe’s funeral, and Peter had his surgery on Thursday. His hand felt better by Saturday night. An email went out to the whole school, giving them an address for a building where they would be using for school until the end of the year. The real school had too many holes in it. The school still had all their backpacks in it. Peter wanted his headphones and textbooks back, also his shoes. 

They had an all-school meeting, about loss, about community. There were therapy dogs and grief counselors. Parents had come. May was there. At first, he had thought May was getting time off, but, as the days stretched on, he had asked what was going on. She’d given him a tight smile, “I’m taking an extended period off.” When he’d asked what that meant, she’d explained, “When I was out on Family Medical Leave, I was asked why I was out. I told them you had gotten a terrible concussion and were injured to the point that you were in hospital… now they know and… I handle a lot of sensitive material and drugs and… I’m apparently not trustworthy.”

Peter had called Matt, explaining that — while he was technically a criminal defense lawyer — he was spoiling for a fight on Peter’s behalf. It had become increasingly apparent that the shooters weren’t going to sue, and he said, “This isn’t, like, legal, right? Like, were they even allowed to ask her? Isn’t medical stuff private?” 

He and Foggy had come to the house to listen and talk about a wrongful termination suit. May had said, “Can I just ask why you so badly want to help Pete and me?”

Matt had blinked several times and said, “Really, Peter?”

“Not my story to tell,” Peter replied.

Matt nodded and then said, “I’m Peter’s Spanish tutor.”

“Oh!” said May. “Thank you. And for tutoring Johnny too.”

“It didn’t start off as real tutoring. I heard his pulse and breathing patterns and realized it was a child under the mask. Offering tutoring meant that, once a week, I’d be able to check him over.”

“I’m good at my job,” Peter had protested.

“Yeah, you are. You’re also five, and you hadn’t told May what you were doing. So, if I swung by Queens once a week and made sure you were doing well, I could sleep at night.”

“Thank you, Matt,” May had said with a smile.

“No problem. I couldn’t get to the school in time; I was running over rooftops, but I couldn’t get there when Peter called for backup. The least I can do is handle a wrongful termination suit for you.” 

Foggy nodded and said, “Now, let’s talk your case: it’s pretty cut and dry. Are you okay with settling or do you want your job back? Because I wouldn’t want to work somewhere that said protecting my kid was less important than loyalty to a company.”

“I don’t want to work there. I just can’t believe,” she shook her head, “I’ve worked there for six years.”

“So, back pay, payout, emotional suffering, benefits and a glowing reference letter?” asked Foggy.

May had agreed and left the lawyers to it. 

Peter felt exhausted. Peter had asked if her getting fired was why the swear jar was upside down. She’d smiled and said, “Once you’ve called your mother a fucking cunt over the phone in a hospital waiting room, there’s no point in pretending it’s a swear-free house.”

“You called Granma Jean an effing c?” asked Peter.

“She called, somewhere around hour four of your surgery,” May shrugged. “Asked how ‘poor Peter’ was doing. And I said, ‘Oh, you fucking cunt: you’ve never liked my kid. His being Spider-Man doesn’t change who he is. He’s a kid you never accepted as your grandchild. You have always treated him as an outsider and less than. But you’re such a blind fucking spiteful bitch you don’t notice that no one likes you. So, no, Mom, you don’t get an update. Only family gets updates.’ I hung up and saw that a ton of parents from your school staring. But then MJ said, ‘Wow, Granma Jean is the literal worst.’” She shook her head, “We didn’t have a swear jar until you came along. Ben and I always swore a blue streak but then we had a little kid so we would put twenty bucks into the jar when we swore: enough to make us really watch our mouths. But, right now, I just don’t care, and you’re old enough to watch your language without a threat.”

“You called Granma Jean an effing c,” said Peter with a smile. 

“For the first time in your life, she showed concern for you: once she knew you were a superhero. The fucking gall of it got to me. You were in surgery, with holes in your head and shattered bones and she tried to act like family. Aunt April called; April got a full update. April adores you, was shocked you were Spider-Man and terrified because she’d seen you on tv bleeding and passed out.” 

Now, she was with him at school as they were told that grades would be based on where they were before the shooting. Thinking about it, Peter realized he was going to get an A- in Spanish which was sheer dumb luck, he’d done extra credit before finals so that he could end up with a B. He really wished he’d been luckier in other areas. 

Someone asked about IB and AP tests, and Principal Morita nodded, “IB tests are postponed until early July, to give you all time to breathe, to grieve, to refocus. Unfortunately, I can’t reset the APs. The College Board said we don’t qualify to take them at the later date because we missed the date to file. I’m sorry; I know your heads aren’t in it. I know how important these tests are. I’m sorry you’re sitting them now. We’re working on finding places for you to sit the tests. We don’t have room in this shared building; we are looking for quiet spaces. We’ll figure it out. You’re getting schedules now. Kids in AP and IB classes, you’ll be having classes to try and salvage what you can. I’m sorry. I’m sure your teachers will try to help you prepare. I know none of us can believe this horror. We can’t believe this happened at our school. We have to live with this horror. We’ll miss our friends, grieve for them, never forget them, but we’ll pull together, and we will get through this.”

The schedule Peter only had a ten AM homeroom and ten-fifteen meeting of AP Physics, everything else was marked as suggested attendance. There was a slide show of smiling faces of people who never smile again. Then they were directed to a room where all their stuff had been gathered. All of the stuff was organized by locker number and classrooms where bags had been found. Peter collected his things, swapping out his beaten up Adidas for his color change Nikes. He loaded up his bag and Ned’s. Ned was hopping about on crutches. Now that Peter didn’t need his cane, he didn’t mind carrying both bags. 

There were tons of cops in the building, a show to make people feel safe. They were all Queens cops, and Peter stopped saying, “Colton?”

“Hey, Spides. Weird to see you without a mask.”

“Hey, why are Queens cops doing community work in Manhattan?”

The sergeant shrugged, “Manhattan cops don’t like you. Deputy Chief’s kid goes here. Deals were made. We’re here for you. Everyone here volunteered for the service. You kids have a really long commute.” 

Peter nodded and said, “It’s an excellent school, and until two weeks ago, it was a really nice, friendly place.” He smiled then said, “This is my best friend, Ned. Ned, Sargent Colton Danes. Weird to have all my lives smooshing together. It’s like a really awful PB&J.”

“Sorry, Spidey. If it makes you feel any better: none of us ever wanted this either.”

“That makes it worse,” said Ned. “Like, way worse: no one wins.” 

Peter put an index finger on his nose and pointed at Ned with his other hand. “Preach.”

“Yeah,” agreed Colton. “You guys are done for the day, right?”

“I have to have a quick meeting with the Principal and then a check-in with AP Physics,” said Peter. 

“I’m done,” said Ned. “And, shockingly, considering I have been on bed rest for almost two weeks, I want a nap.” Parents started to come out of the auditorium.

The Leeds came over with May, and Peter handed off Ned’s bag. “May, Colton. Colton, you have May’s number in your phone as ‘Spider-Mom.’”

He shook her hand, and May asked Peter, “Which one is Colton?”

“Makes you a balloon animal when you’re sad,” said Peter. 

Colton smiled, “So you know everyone by weird hobbies?”

May nodded, “Or what you or a spouse cooks well.”

Looking at all the sad, somber faces, Peter said, “Y’know, with all the support dogs and grief counselors, people may appreciate your balloon pigs.” MJ came to them and slid an arm around Peter’s waist. Looking at his friends, he said, “Do you guys want to come over for the splash pad later? I have a meeting where I’m gonna get expelled and then AP for a test I’m not gonna ace. After, do you want to hang out on the splash pad?”

“God, yes,” MJ groaned as her parents approached. “Anything to try and wash today off.” 

He said bye to his friends and said, “See you later, Colton.”

“Bye, Spides. Hope you don’t get kicked out.”

“Pretty sure I’m gonna get kicked out.” 

They went to a makeshift office. Holding May’s arm, he said, “Can I do the talking? Can I be the grown-up in there? I really need to be in charge of something — anything — right now.”

“Okay, sweetie, whatever you need,” She agreed. “I will silently support you.”

In the office, Principal Morita gave him a very gentle smile. “Hi, Peter, Mrs. Parker. Please come in.”

The man was clearly stressed, and Peter said, “‘We’re grateful you were there the day of the shooting, Peter, but I’m sorry to say you won’t be attending Midtown Science and Tech after today.’” He smiled sadly, “Am I right?”

“I tried, Peter. You can stay until the end of the years, the state just feels that-”

Peter nodded. “Just because supervillains put me off-limits doesn’t mean some guy who wants to make a name for themselves won’t take a shot. While I was perhaps useful the day of the shooting, I am now an attractive nuisance for violent criminals.”

“There’s no question of ‘perhaps.’ You saved hundreds of lives,” said Principal Morita. “You got Betty to call the office; you took them all down. You saved us, Peter. I’m so sorry. I tried to talk to them. You can file an appeal.”

“Just Sci Tech or the whole public school system?” asked Peter.

“The whole public school system,” confirmed the man. “You can file an appeal.”

Peter shook his head, “They aren’t wrong. I put a bullseye on the school. The Xavier School receives a small amount of public funding. Is that considered part of the public school system?” 

“No, the Xavier School is not public.”

Peter nodded, “Okay. When I became Spider-Man I decided to put the safety of others above myself. They are less safe with me here. It sucks, but my desire for an education from Sci Tech doesn’t trump their need for safety. I’ll get an excellent education at the Xavier School. I’ll be okay. I really liked it here.”

“We really liked having you,” said Principal Morita.

“End of the school year?” asked Peter and received a nod. “Okay,” he exhaled slowly. 

“Peter, I’m so sorry,” said the man.

“I liked my life. I loved being Spider-Man after school and then taking off the suit and just living my life. Coming to school, doing decathlon, working on my internship. I liked being just Peter Parker from seven to three forty-five. And there was always some crossover: Daredevil tutors me in Spanish and Hank McCoy eats in our kitchen. But, I got to have my two lives. And now I don’t. It’s weird that the shooting has hurt so many people, but the biggest ramifications — for me personally — comes from an Instagram posted two minutes before it all kicked off. I lost friends and teachers because of the guns and I lost my whole private life because of a post. If it hadn’t been for that post, would I still be?” He let the question trail off.

“I’ve known who you were since Stark posted that video while you were out sick with a concussion. I never would have told the school board anything. ‘Oh, Spider-Man? Yeah, real hero. He swung in and out nowhere and saved the school.’ You would still be a student here.”

He nodded, “When you’re expelled, you can’t be on school grounds, like, ever again, right? ‘Cause MJ bought a dress for fall semiformal. She saw it and it was on sale and she got it. She always calls the school dances lame but she loves them secretly. I won’t be allowed in, will I?”

“The school board doesn’t come to dances. Just don’t shout it on social media,” said the man.

“Okay… that’s good.”

“I’m so sorry, Peter.”

“It’s not your fault. With my name and face out there, the school board made the right call. It’s not your fault. This is the right call.” He stood and said, “I should go to Physics. The test is in a week and a half.” 

The man nodded, “I’ve got to find classrooms for you all. It’s gonna be tight. We staggered your classes so the AP could all be in rooms by themselves, but we don’t have enough for the days of the tests.”

“I might be able to get you one classroom on the day.”

“Oh?” asked Principal Morita.

“Charles won’t open the school to the general public; it’s a sanctuary. But I can vouch for AP Physics. It’s only one classroom, and we would have to go to Westchester.” 

“I doubt they’ll be interested in helping us after I kicked you out.”

Peter shook his head, “You are simply a messenger for an obvious and necessary action. No one at the Xavier School can hold it against you or Sci Tech. The question will be whether or not they’re comfortable having a whole bunch of homo sapiens come into the school. I’ll ask.” He thought for a moment and held out a hand over the desk and the man shook it. “No hard feelings: I loved my time here.”

“Thank you, Peter — Spider-Man. Thank you.”

“It’s all part of the service,” Peter shrugged. “I’ll tell you when I know if we can use the school for Physics.”

He left with May. Outside the office, she said, “If you want to appeal it-”

“It’s the right call,” he said. “I want to be here, but I endanger,” he swallowed hard. “Keeping it together by the skin of my teeth. Can we talk later?”

“Of course,” she agreed. 

He went toward the class, May with him as it was toward the exit. He saw Colton, who asked, “How did it go?”

“Expelled from the public school system,” Peter licked the back of his teeth. He was not going to cry on school property. 

Colton’s face dropped. “Usually, I take friends who just got fired out to get drunk. Obviously, that’s off the table. But, after class, let me and the guys take you out to get you as many milkshakes as you can handle? You got fired from being a student.”

He glanced to May. “Do you need me?”

“No, go drown your sorrows in sugar,” she gave him a tight, sad smile. She gave him a hug. “Love you.”

He hugged her back, “Love you too. I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

“I can drop you at home,” offered Colton. “It’s not a secret anymore.”

Peter hated that it wasn’t, but he smiled at the man, “That would be great, thanks. I better go to class.”

He got there as everyone else was pulling out textbooks. “Can I just have two minutes?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Mr. Soffelus. 

Peter pulled both his cellphones out, but they were dead. He sighed, “Karen, can you call Charles, please?”

“Absolutely, Peter,”

It was quiet for a moment, and Charles said, “Hello, Peter, how is school?”

“I have been expelled from the public school system. Allowed to finish the year, but then I’m out.”

“I’m so sorry, Peter. Rejected for being amazing. We’ve got you,” said Charles. “We’ll figure out your commute. You’re one of us. We will get you through this.”

“Thank you, Charles. I have a request but feel free to say no. We don’t have enough classrooms for the AP tests. I can’t vouch for the whole school: hell, one of my classmates destroyed my life. But I know that the AP Physics class are good people.”

Charles made a thoughtful sound, “Let me talk it over with the faculty. I’ll get back to you.”

“Thank you, Charles, for all of it. I better get to class.”

“We’ll speak later,” agreed Charles. Karen disconnected the call, and Peter took a deep, slow breath. 

Straightening up, he rolled his shoulders. “Okay, class time. Sorry for the delay.”

“You got kicked out of the public school system?” asked Betty, horrified.

“Yeah, you’re gonna need a new study buddy,” he agreed. 

“What are you going to do?”

“Attend the Xavier School with the other kids deemed too dangerous for public consumption. I’m sad I won’t be here. I’ll really miss you guys. But I’ll be in classes with Shadowcat and Ice; it’ll be okay. I mean, I’ve been tight with the X-Men for years. So… we might be taking the test there. If we do, you guys have to be cool. No staring. Be my great friends. Don’t be jerks. Be chill; don’t ask anyone their name; be friendly and polite. You will be the first non-mutants who aren’t family to ever walk in there. Don’t mess it up, okay?” They all nodded. 

“We get to go to the X-mansion?” asked Mr. Soffelus. He looked excited, and it made Peter smile a little.

“Maybe,” said Peter. “It’s not a zoo or museum. We’ll be going into a home. There are little kids. Just act normal and be nice. Pretend we’re visiting any other school. I’m just trying to get us a classroom.”

“Wow, you’re, like, really connected,” said Seymour. 

Giving a half nod, Peter said, “I’m a friendly guy who travels in a lot of circles. After class the cops are taking me out to drown my sadness in sugar. I'm gonna drink my weight in milkshakes. I know all the cops in Queens and all the supers. New Year’s I was partying with aliens who I’m on first-name basis with. I know all the coolest people and some of the worst. Anyway, class, we’re not getting fives, but let’s get it done.”

They all worked together, trying to salvage the class. When the period ended, Seymour said, “Does anyone have a real class next, or can we keep going?” 

They stuck to it for another hour and a half, and then Mr. Soffelus said, “I have AP Calc coming in. Sorry, guys. Go over the chapter, do the question, we’ll go over it tomorrow. I still think you can get fives. We all just have to breathe through it.”


	5. Chapter 5

Peter kept breathing through it. Going to classes, stroking therapy dogs, studying like a fiend. Mr. Watson came by the house. He told them it had nothing to do with Peter being enhanced, he assured him that he liked them and that they had been good neighbors. He was moving because he was scared, but he wasn’t afraid of Peter just the dangers of living next to a superhero. May asked him to have the house appraised and speak to them before he put it on the market. Once he was gone, May said, “You wanted to buy it someday. I guess someday is sooner than we thought.”

“What do I do with a house? I’m sixteen. I don’t need a house.”

“We’ll figure it out, sweetie. We’ll figure it all out.”

He looked at her, feeling so bone-deep tired. “May, I’m so sorry for dragging you down with me. I’m so sorry. I never meant for this. I was going to keep it a secret forever, and no one would ever know. And then Steve Rogers happened, and I thought it could still be okay; I could still salvage it. What can’t we do together? And now, your job and Mr. Watson and I just… I can’t control any of it. It’s all out of control. I’m so sorry. I can move to school, you’d be safer, and you wouldn’t have to-” 

May put her hand over his mouth, “Stop it. Stop it. I would not have you any other way. If it weren’t for me finding out about Spider-Man, I wouldn’t have Wine and Wikipedia Wednesdays; I wouldn’t be sort of dating a great guy; I wouldn’t know your awesome friends. I don’t want you to be any different than you are. And I want to know about your life and who you are. You’re amazing. And you’re my kid. And you are staying here in our home with me. We will figure it out. You didn’t cause this problem. You aren’t the problem. I love you. The supervillains put us off-limits. Every superhero assures me that there is a code that the villains don’t touch your civilians, and you don’t touch theirs, so I’m safe. We’re safe. We’ll figure it out. You’re not moving to school.”

“I have been running on adrenaline for weeks. When am I going to feel like I can relax?”

It didn’t start feeling better. School was a mess, he avoided talking to anyone he wasn’t already friends with. It was too awkward. He petted the therapy dogs because they were good boys and girls. He took the bandages of his hand and saw a gross scar that Hank had assured him would fade. 

Marie Jennings started to approach him in the hall, and he said, “You’ve destroyed my life. Don’t say a damn word. Turn around, walk away. We’ll never see each other again after this month: I’ve been expelled from the public school system because my name is too dangerous. I’ve been expelled; my aunt was fired; my neighbors are moving out because they are afraid. All because of your Instagram post. So turn around and walk away because I don’t want to hear a single word out of your mouth.” People were watching, but Peter didn’t care.

The next day, he was on his way to English class. None of the classes were real; none were mandatory. But it was a chance to hold MJs hand and talk to people who at least sort of knew him. He was in almost an okay mood, having made plans with some of the cops to go out after school. Police had been driving him, MJ and Ned home most afternoons. He was looking forward to the quietness of English class, even though they shared the room with a French class. No one was doing any work; they just talked. But it would be good to get out of the halls of a building not intended to hold this many people. 

Then a woman was standing in front of him. She was short, hair cut into a bob, neat and put together. He thought it probably helped with her job, no one liked a grief counselor who didn’t have their act together. “Hi, Peter, my name is Alice. Do you have a couple of minutes to talk? I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

He smiled at her politely and said, “I understand that. I absolutely do. But we’re in a school filled with traumatized children who could really use your help. So I’ll take a pass, but thank you.”

“You were shot. You should talk about it,” she said.

“It’s not the worst I’ve ever been injured while fighting crime; it’s not the scariest thing I’ve ever dealt with; it wasn’t the saddest as it was happening. We’re in a building filled with children for whom this is the worst thing they have ever experienced. I lost three friends and one of my favorite teachers — I’m not going to pretend I walked away unscathed — but these kids need you so much more than the street hero does. This is a triage situation, and I’m at the very bottom of your list. I have support; I’m going to be okay. Help them, Alice, because they don’t have what I have. I might be struggling, but they are drowning, and you can throw them a lifebuoy. So, thank you for reaching out, but you need to help them, not me.” He gave her another warm, polite smile and then detoured into the men’s room, possibly the only place that was currently empty in the building, “Karen, call Hank, please?” 

She connected him, and Hank said, “You have ten minutes before I need to go to class.”

“Do we have someone I can talk to?”

“About what? What skill are you looking to learn?”

“About the fact that I can’t breathe. About how scared I am that someone will kill May for being my person. About how damn sad I am. It can’t be one of us. I can’t…”

“I’ve seen your brain, I shouldn’t also know how it works because that’s one step too far?” suggested Hank.

“Exactly.”

“And you feel a little guilty for being so upset about losing your normal life knowing that everyone at this school already experienced it.”

“Yes,” Peter breathed out.

“I mean, I see where you’re coming from. But, y’know, it’s never about comparing traumas. And the people here… society and our families may have shunned us, but no one here was almost killed by a man we idolized. We didn’t have a school shooting. We don’t have to walk into rooms filled with homo sapiens every day.”

“I don’t want to compare my traumas with you guys. You’re some of my closest friends, and I just want to be normal around you,” said Peter. “I am so sick of my friends needing to put me back together. And when it’s physical, I’d be a moron not to ask for your help. You’re the best doctor in our field. But this is a mental thing.” 

“I get it, man, I do. Y’know, sometimes when I can’t fall asleep, I actually think about this. Always knew that, at some point, you would want to talk. We’ve always kept it to the physical, kept it goal-oriented. But, at some point, you were gonna want some actual emotional support outside of friendship and cheerleading. None of us were going to push it on you but, if you’re ready, that’s good. So, for a year, I’ve thought about who you should talk to when you were ready to talk. Stephen Strange’s wife isn’t a therapist. But she’s perfect for this.”

“Stephen’s married?” asked Peter.

“I know, right?” Hank laughed. “She’s the Queen of the Dark Dimension. She was kept hostage for years by her uncle while he tortured her and sat on her rightful throne. Nothing you can say will shock her. You will never be able to traumatize her. No problem of yours will ever add to her burden. She gets grief and loss and fear and being hurt by someone who never should have. She’s hundreds of years old and, also, just the nicest. You’ll really like her and be able to open up, and she learned a lot of coping mechanisms she can teach you. And she’ll listen when you talk about that Instagram and not condescend but agree your life sucks right now. Usually, we do this for our kids, but you’re not one of our kids, you’re our friend: you need someone who isn’t connected to you but is part of our world. Clea is perfect. Also, her hair is made of fire, so don’t be surprised.” 

“Oh, that sounds amazing. A grief counselor tried to talk to me, but I need one of us and not some,” he sighed.

“Lookie-loo? Civilian? Pedestrian? Homo sapien?”

“Yes, does that make me bad?”

“You don’t view yourself as above the grief counselor. Just separate. Your problem is outside of her ken. Abducted, tortured and just having things get worse from there — that’s Clea’s bread and butter. She’s not a superhero, but she’s one of us. I’ll call Stephen and set it up. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have his wife around more. They’re crazy for each other and don’t spend anywhere near as much time together as they would like. You’re a good excuse for her to visit more.”

“Thanks, Hank.”

“Not a problem. I have to get to class.”

“Me too,” agreed Peter before Karen disconnected the call. 

He was still breathing through it when Mrs. Ditkovich came over to the house and gave them almost the exact same speech as Mr. Watson. May made the same request about getting the house appraised. When she left, May said, “It’s probably safer not to have strangers move in right next door. You have millions of dollars in the bank.”

“So how many houses are we going to buy?” asked Peter. 

“Well, the X-Men own a couple hundred acres, the Fantastics own a building, the Avengers had their tower. Maybe you’ll end up buying a block of Queens. You have the money. I say you bulldoze the Ditkovich place, put up a fence and have a big yard and two houses. Or convert the Ditkovich's into a lab space.” 

He just studied and tried to breathe. He didn’t know how to relax, so he just studied instead. Johnny was informed that ESU wasn’t insured to have supers in the dorms, so he was going to be living at home. He decided he was going to fly Peter to school every day and, when Peter protested that it was too much, Johnny disagreed, saying it would force him to get up at a reasonable time. One of the others would pick him up in the afternoon for his internship. 

Charles agreed to them taking the test at school, so they were all up early at school. Everyone came with sunglasses and Starbucks. They were waiting on Mr. Soffelus, and the bus and Peter saw reporters, probably just doing an update in the situation. They’d been good about not approaching the kids. Peter looked at his watch. Mr. Soffelus wouldn’t be there for another fifteen minutes. To Betty, he said, “Should I shame the College Board on TV?”

“Are you gonna say anything bad?” she asked. Peter shook his head, “Well, you’ve handled reporters before.”

“Be right back.” He went over, squaring his shoulders. The reporters saw him coming, and he gave them a tight smile, “Good morning. I just wanted to thank you for giving us time to process and breathe after the deadliest school shooting in history. We need time, and I appreciate you not pushing.”

“Spider-Man, how are you doing?”

“I have had multiple surgeries. My best friend almost died. I lost three close friends and one of my favorite teachers; it’s not been an easy time. Everything is a mess. And today, my AP Physics class and I are going to take a big, really important test. It’s huge, the AP test can get you college credit. But no one is ready to take it. So… the College Board, who arrange it, said we couldn’t take it at the later date because we didn’t apply in time. We didn’t apply because we been slaughtered yet. A for-profit organization decided the deadliest school shooting in history didn’t justify us getting an extension. So, we’re not doing so great. Our teacher, Mr. Soffelus, he’s awesome. He said he would teach us so well we would view the test as a joke and rock up in sunglasses with Starbucks and get fives effortlessly because we knew the subject like the back of our hands. We’re not going to get fives. None of us are ready or emotionally with it enough to get fives. But, at least he might laugh when he sees the sunglasses and Starbucks.”

“And how are you doing with the post — with your name being out there?” asked a different journalist.

“My aunt got fired from her job for not outing me to her employers. When Steve Rogers and the government tortured me, she took medical leave to look after me. And they asked why she needed the time; she said I’d gotten a bad concussion. So, now they fired her for lying. I have been expelled from the public school system because they worry bad guys might target the school where I go. It’s not an unreasonable concern. Two of my neighbors are moving because they are scared of living next to me. There are photos of me walking my dog in my Spider-Man onesie all over the internet. The girl who posted them apologized and deleted her blog, but it was too late. People on the internet say my dog is ugly because he’s missing an eye. They are saying racist things about my friends. They called my girlfriend the n-word and said she’s only dating me because I’m Spider-Man. My girlfriend is amazing and not dating me for the Spider. My friends are awesome. My handsome dog lost his eye, saving Clint Barton’s life. And the internet shouldn’t know about any of them. The internet should just go on being a racist, spiteful place without ever paying attention to a group of traumatized science nerds from New York. I really liked having a private life. I’m not as poised as Johnny Storm. I didn’t want my face out there I just wanted to be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man at night and me during the day. I really enjoyed my life. So, I’m not doing too great. I’m doing my best. But I’m not sure it’s enough. I never wanted my name or face to be known. And now I’m going to go try to get a five on a test that I thought was the most important thing in my life a month ago. The College Board saying we had to sit the tests this week or not at all was really salt in the wound. We lost so many people, and now we all have to go sit three-hour tests when we’re not really here. Our school is a crime scene, and this building we’ve borrowed doesn’t have enough classrooms, so our teacher is driving us to a school that could host us. Nothing about today is okay. All we could do was wear sunglasses and bring Starbucks. I’m doing my best, but I’m not sure it’s good enough. Anyway, I just came over to say thank you. Thank you for having the decency and compassion not to push people for interviews because, right now, we’re all just doing our best not to sob in the hallways. I gotta go back to my friends. I want Mr. Soffelus to get the full impact of us all with Starbucks and sunglasses.” He gave them a half-wave and headed back to his class across the street. 

“How did it go?” asked Betty.

“I’m really good at victim impact statements at this point. I will be shocked if the College Board doesn’t offer to let everyone in the school re-sit these tests. I said we are traumatized, that my friends are being cyberbullied, that we all almost died and that the College Board made it worse. If I wasn’t a sympathetic survivor if that interview, then I honestly don’t think anyone could top it.”

“That’s kind of cold and calculating,” said Seymour. 

“Well, I want a five and everything I said was true. The last time I wanted something this bad, Steve Rogers lost the legal right to his name — which I didn’t even think was possible. I can’t get rid of the post, can’t undo the shooting, can’t bring back our friends, but I can at least get us August test dates for the APs.”

A small bus pulled up, and Mr. Soffelus opened the door from the driver’s seat. See them, he smiled, “You guys, I love it. You look amazing! Let’s go. I have every faith that you are going to crush the test.”

They all got in. When they were almost there, Peter said, “Guys, I am duty-bound to remind you to be nice to my friends. I know I don’t need to say it, but Charles would want me to. Some of them look different, don’t stare. These people are family to me. Don’t make my family uncomfortable in their own home. You are all my friends and all nice people, but you are about to get thrown into the deep end; don’t mess it up. Everyone at the school is nice… actually, there is one snot-nosed jerk I don’t like, but he’s nine, so he’ll probably grow out of it. What makes him not nice has nothing to do with powers. He’s just an obnoxious little kid. Everyone other than that one kid is cool.” When they got to the school, it was Charles who opened the door. Peter smiled, “Charles, thank you so much for having us.”

“Anything to make your lives a little easier,” the man smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Peter speaks very highly of you. I’m Professor Xavier. Dr. Banner’s class is taking the test too. We’ve set you up in the class next to his; we thought we would swap teachers to proctor. Does that sound alright to you, Mr. Soffelus?”

“Sounds great. Thank you for this. It’s very kind of you to have us. Especially in light of Peter getting kicked out.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be right to take any anger about that out on students and, quite frankly, the school district isn’t wrong about Peter. It’s deeply unfortunate, but not wrong.” He led them upstairs and said, “Your classroom is there, the bathrooms are just down the hall.” Bruce walked out of his class, and Charles said, “This is Dr. Banner. I’ll leave you all to it. Good luck on the test, children. And remember, with the month you’re having: it’s just a test.” 

It was Sebastian who said, “A significant test that can help us get into college and get us college credit.”

Charles nodded and said, “Very true. But, if you write an essay about where you were when you heard the first shot and how you plan to build your life after surviving, a university will most likely overlook the poor mark. That might seem calculated to you, but it’s a good way to get into the school of your choice. You won’t get credit, but at least you’ll get in.” He gave them a sad smile and said, “Good luck.” 

Bruce smiled, “How ‘bout you guys come on in, and we’ll go over the instructions, and then we’ll head next door?” They went in, and Peter waved at friends. Bruce read out all the instructions. “Any questions that Mr. Soffelus or I cannot answer because we’re not really allowed to answer anything?”

“What’s lunch?” asked Ashley.

“Uh, we went back and forth. A lot of discussion about ‘what do homo sapiens eat?’ No one believed me that everyone eats pretty much the same things we eat. The argument went on for a surprisingly long time. Ms. Frost made calzones.”

“Awesome,” said Peter. “Emma makes the best calzones in the world. I gained fifty pounds in this house. How different can the food really be?”

Bruce nodded, “We know how you feel about her calzones. But, I did point out that, while you aren’t actually a homo sapien, MJ and Ned always enjoy eating here. Anyone else?” None of his students said anything, and he looked at Peter’s class. “No? Okay. My kids, be good for Mr. Soffelus. I love you, and I’m proud of how hard you’ve worked this year. It’s only a test. Mr. Soffelus’ kids, come with me.”

They went into the other room, and Bruce handed out the test and graphing calculators. “Okay, guys, breathe out. You prepared; you studied: you’ve got this.”

The test was… easy. Like, too easy. Like, bizarrely easy. When they got to the water break halfway through, Sebastian said, “Is anyone else concerned that the free-response section is going to suck after the multiple-choice section was so simple?”

“Thank God, I thought I was going crazy,” said Betty. “It’s — like — stupid straightforward, right?”

Bruce had collected their test books from the first half and said, “I’m gonna go check on my kids, talk amongst yourselves. Hit the bathrooms if you need to, we start again in 15 minutes. Don’t text anyone. Theoretically, I’m supposed to take your phones. But, you’re Pete’s friends, so I trust you.”

Once he was gone, Betty said, “It’s a really nice school.”

“I know,” agreed Peter. “I lived here for three months after the boat; I wasn’t well enough to go home. I’m in and out all the time. I finished my physical rehab, but… so many of my friends are here and, once I took off the mask, it was nice to spend time just hanging out. It’s nice.”

"We're being proctored by one of the world's preeminent physists," she said.

Mr. Soffelus came in, and they told him how easy it was, he smiled. “Dr. Banner’s kids were saying the same thing, and I was dreading walking in here and hearing it was terrible. I didn’t want you hearing that they thought it was a breeze at lunch. I texted our school because I didn’t know we were staying. I got it cleared. So kind of them to invite us for lunch. Sorry I didn’t tell you that I love you before the test. It doesn’t really feel appropriate for me.”

“Ninety percent of kids at this school get kicked out by their parents for being different,” said Peter. “If Bruce hadn’t said it then, probably another teacher would have said it at some point today; it’s a family, and everyone likes being told they’re loved. They won’t hear from their blood families. They have a very different relationship with their students than you do. You’re very fond of us. At the end of the day, you go home and eat dinner with your family; they eat dinner with these kids.”

Hank came in and said, “Hand?”

“Mostly okay,” said Peter. “I can’t put all my weight on it, but I’ve been doing handstands putting about a sixth of my weight on it.”

“Could you not do that, maybe?” asked Hank as he crossed to him. Peter held out his hand for inspection Hank started examining his surgery scars and manipulating his fingers. “How is the test going?” he asked, looking around.

“So far, pretty great,” said Betty.

Hank smiled, “That’s good. So, who are you? I know you all, but I don’t know who is who.”

“I’m Betty,” she said.

“Betty Brant?” asked Hank.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Hank. Peter breathed in hard as Hank manipulated his hand. “Has it been hurting when you bend it back?”

“Yes, but guess what? I’m gonna shock you.”

“Are you seriously about to tell me you’ve been avoiding bending it back?” asked Hank.

“Yes, I have been cautious about that,” agreed Peter.

“So you can teach an old spider new tricks. So proud, all my speeches about being kind to your body are paying off, and it only took a year. How are you doing handstands if you’re taking care of your wrists?”

“It’s been more like fingertip stands,” agreed Peter.

Hank sighed, “With you, Spidey, it’s two steps forward, three steps back. No handstands until you’re cleared for swinging.”

“That seems brutally restrictive,” said Peter. 

“Let that hand heal up,” ordered Hank. “Emma made you calzones for lunch, and there is a dessert that is so much funnier than I realized it would be. So, focus on the test for right now and then enjoy lunch.” He released Peter’s hand as Bruce came back, “I’ll let you get back to it.”

They resumed their test, it was hard but not insurmountable. When their time was up, Bruce said, “Verdict?”

“I feel good about my chance for a five,” said Sebastian, everyone else nodded. “It wasn’t brutal.”

“I took a look at it,” said Bruce collecting their books. “It was a good, hard test. When you say it wasn’t that difficult, you’re actually just saying Mr. Soffelus is a great teacher. It was a very comprehensive test. Would anyone like to hit the bathroom before we go down to lunch?” No one did, and he said, “Cool, we’re going to eat in the kitchen. Some of the littler kids are freaked out by your presence, and this means you and my class can talk about the test as much as you like without bugging anyone else.” As he led the way, he said, “The kitchen table sits twenty, because, in this school, everything is bigger. We added some folding chairs because we figured the AP Physics students from both schools might want a bit of a breather and a chance to just chat. It’s gonna be a little squished, but we’ll have fun. Usually, the kitchen is filled with teachers bemoaning students and older kids bemoaning the little ones.”

They reached the foyer when Peter heard Warren call, “Peter, catch me!”

“No!” Peter shouted just as Warren jumped over the banister. His wings were little and not strong enough to make him fly. He half glided, but it wasn’t enough. Peter had to bite down on a scream. Putting Warren down, he said, “Angel! Not cool. Super not cool. You have to get someone else’s consent when you want to play a game... You can’t force them to play with you. That’s not okay. My hand hurts. We’ve played that game before, and it was fun, but you have to stop and ask if someone wants to play the game again. Consent one time doesn’t give you a pass every time. When you don’t ask for some else’s consent, that’s not playing. That’s the path to prison. Do you want to be on a path to prison?” Warren shook his head. “So, what are you going to do from now on?”

“I’ll ask first and make sure someone wants to play.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t want to have to bake a file into a cake.”

“Did I hurt you?” asked Warren, worried.

“I mean, it sure as heck didn’t feel good,” said Peter, honestly.

“Would a kiss help?”

“Yes,” Peter held out his wrist. “Right here, please?” Warren kissed it, and Peter said, “Yes, much better, go have lunch.” Warren ran off. 

Sebastian called, “Hey, kid?” Warren turned back, looking nervous, homo sapiens had been very cruel to him. “Your wings are really pretty. And the bit where you were gliding was cool.”

Warren grinned widely and spoke softly when he said, “Thanks.” He left with more of a bounce to his step.

Turning, Peter saw that Scott and Bruce were both giving “stern face” to Warren’s back. “Hey, Cyclops.” Scott’s name had never been outed. He didn’t have a public name, so Peter didn’t say it.

“Spidey, ‘path to prison’? Alliteration in a lecture? I nearly pissed myself.”

“Dude, language,” Peter reprimanded, “there are students.” He gestured to his classmates.

“Not my students,” said Scott. “I hear a pained noise, I come to start telling people off, and I see you have it, so I just begin nodding sagaciously behind you and then I had to fight to keep a straight face as you said ‘path to prison’ and talked about files in cakes.”

Peter smiled ruefully, “I give so many mini speeches in every night’s patrol that I like to amuse myself. Sorry, I thought only Bruce was here, and he never has a problem with keeping a straight face. I’m one of your students next year.” 

“That’s gonna be fun,” agreed Scott as they moved toward the kitchen. “I’ll know at least one person in the class has their act together. Just please, please don’t ever make me go teacher on you. It will be incredibly awkward if we need to talk about lateness or your grades. We all view this as a friend who is just sitting in on class. None of us can be authority figures to you. That would be weird.”

“Totally agreed,” said Peter. “This is my class, by the way. Class, this is Cyclops.”

“Hello, class,” said Scott. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this horrible time. It’s terrible that you experienced this. But we’re pleased to have you here. How was the test?”

Seymour said, “We all felt good about it.”

“That’s good,” said Scott with a small smile. Peter heard a noise from one hallway over he couldn’t quite place, and Bruce and Scott shouted in unison, “Get off the skateboard, please.” Turning back to the class, Scott said, “They are so ready for summer.” Then, quietly, he added, “So’s the faculty.”

“But if you all live here, does it make a difference?” asked Sebastian. 

“Y’kidding? Not trying to get sixty kids out of bed, into class, paying attention and doing the reading?” said Scott. “We usually go camping a couple of times, go for hikes, go horseback riding, big movie marathons, tons of swimming. Gambit sets up some sports contests. We always have a big scavenger hunt. Peter, Ice and Cat embarrassed themselves during the hunt last summer.”

“We thought the clue was about Hannibal Lecter and accidentally locked ourselves in the wine cellar for like an hour.”

“Missouri,” said Scott. “Hannibal, Missouri. Why would a cannibal be in a scavenger hunt seven-year-olds were playing?”

“Why wasn’t there a clue for the wine cellar?” asked Peter. “It’s fun and spooky.”

Nodding Bruce said, “And a great way to break glass or have a ten-year-old sneak a bottle and get alcohol poisoning.” 

“If you got stuck for an hour, how long was the scavenger hunt?” asked Betty. 

“Started after breakfast, we had a buffet table of snacks left out, and we went right up until about seven o’clock,” said Bruce. “We thought the three of them had just peaced out for a break.”

“No, we were playing eff, marry, kill, twenty questions and destroy the celebrity couple and Cat really needed to pee. Thank goodness Hank went down to your lab; otherwise, we’d still be sitting there with me trying to convince Ice that he should date Austin Butler so I can date Vanessa Hudgens.” Scott sighed, and Peter said, “It’s amazing that a man in a visor can obviously roll his eyes.”

Looking at Peter’s friends as they entered the butler’s pantry, Scott said, “Is destroy the celebrity couple a real game? Because the kids play it all the time, but I’m pretty sure Ice made it up.”

“Ice one billion percent made it up,” said Peter.

“It sounds fun,” said Seymour. 

“It’s really fun,” agreed Peter. “You spend a lot of time browbeating people into taking the other half of the couple.” They entered the kitchen, and he said, “Emma, you are the best.” 

She smiled, “You say this whenever I make calzones.”

“Because you are the best,” he agreed. People were bustling around, and he said, “And just for the record, homo sapiens eat normal food, the same stuff you guys have. You aren’t so disconnected as to eat strange things.”

He helped her, grabbing out utensils as Mr. Soffeus came in with Bruce’s class. “This house is beautiful, your kids were giving me a little bit of a tour, Dr. Banner.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” agreed Bruce. “I’ve only been here a little over a year. I came the day Peter got off the boat. It was either come here and help Dr. McCoy save Peter’s life or kill Tony Stark with my bare hands. Being on the faculty is better.”

They enjoyed their meal together, going over answers, arguing about the best way to solve different questions. Kitty joined them, without a mask, saying she had already taken the course. Of course, she got a four on the test when she was thirteen. Cam came in at one point and squirmed his way into Peter’s lap. Peter smiled and said, “This is an AP Physics lunch. I was unaware that you were in AP Physics.”

“I miss you.”

“I was here last weekend.”

“You were doing medical stuff. We didn’t get to hang out. Where are MJ and Ned?”

“MJ and Ned also aren’t in AP Physics.”

“But it’s your favorite class? How can it be your favorite if MJ and Ned aren’t there?” asked Cam, looking terribly confused. 

Shrugging Peter said, “I really enjoy the subject matter, and everyone in the class is cool.”

“What are MJ and Ned doing now?” asked Cam, still grappling with the idea of them having separate lives.

“They’re in class,” answered Peter.

“No,” said Kitty. “Maybe MJ is, but Ned decided to blow off class today and is playing with therapy dogs.” Holding up her phone, she said, “He’s been sending me great selfies with puppies.”

“Why did he skip class?” asked Peter. 

“Um, someone asked to see and touch his leg,” she said, and everyone from Sci Tech made almost the exact same pained noise. No one, even his friends, had asked to look at Peter’s leg. Even Coach Wilson, who had been after him all year, had stopped trying to talk him into wearing P.E. shorts immediately after the shooting. 

“What happened to his leg?” asked Cam.

“He got a bad booboo. No one should ask to look at your booboos unless they are a doctor. Everyone owns their own body, right?” Cam nodded. “You never get to make demands from someone else’s body, right?” Cam nodded again. “Cool.”

“Otherwise, you could end up on a path to prison,” said Scott, making Peter laugh. 

“Tell you what,” he said to Cam. “I will be here next week for Shadowcat’s birthday, and we’ll get some quality time then. But let us talk physics now?”

Cam nodded. “And Betty Brant’s here so dessert is-” 

Peter put his hand over Cam’s mouth, “Let that joke play out on its own. ‘Kay?” Cam nodded, and Peter could feel the grin under his hand.

Cam jumped from his lap and said, “See you soon, Peter!” before running out of the room.

“Okay,” said Betty. “That’s the second time my name and dessert has come up. What rumors have you been spreading?”

“Actually, it was May who said it,” said Bruce, wide grin on his face.

“Pete, hon, would you mind giving me a hand with dessert?” asked Marie.

“Of course, Rogue. Emma, delicious as always.” He followed and said, “BJ’s pink cake with chocolate frosting?”

“Yes, sir,” she agreed with a smile. “I cut up the ones for the dining room. But, I wanted to write on yours. I know your generation is known for dark and nihilistic humor, but I wasn’t sure if writing, ‘Congrats on surviving!’ would be funny.”

He smiled, “I think it’s funny. But it’s not the first time I was shot, and a lot of people died. So, yes, it is funny, but, no, a lot of my class might not laugh.”

She nodded, “Okay, wanted to be sure. How you holding up?” 

“Hanging on by a thread, but — let’s face it — that’s the status quo for me these days.” 

She gave him a sad smile, “You know we’re all here for you?”

“Yeah, I’ve been talking to Clea — Stephen’s wife. She’s helping a lot.”

“Good,” she nodded. “That’s good.” 

“Want me to carry the cut cake to the dining room while you pipe?”

“That’d be great,” she nodded. 

He carried one of the two large sheet cakes through to the dining room and said, “Dessert is here when the teachers say it’s time.” He smiled at them before retracing his steps. The lettering was pretty, and Marie had written, “Congrats, the AP test is done!” He helped her carry it into the kitchen. 

Betty saw the cake and said, “I don’t get the joke.”

“Oh, you will,” said Hank. 

Peter was pretty sure Hank had only come in to see it play out.

When Betty took her first bite, she stared at the fork and then said, “Is the joke that May stole my mom’s recipe? Because this is my birthday cake.”

Hank lost it, put his head back as he laughed, and Bruce ended up holding his face in his hands, laughing so hard. 

Sobering, Bruce said, “We have a shorthand around here. When things are totally fubar, and all you can do is focus on minutia to try and mitigate damage, someone will — invariably — say, ‘Betty Brant’s mother is a filthy liar.’”

He dissolved into giggles. Hank gathered himself and explained, “The night Peter came here, he was dying. He was focused on his leg. But he was dying. May came, and she was so calm. Ninety percent of us don’t have family. When they see we’re different, they dump us. And I was so worried. That she was going to learn the truth and leave her dying kid here. And, usually, we can step in, be in parental roles for the kids. But Peter was our friend. None of us could act as parents to him. He wasn’t a kid the same way our kids are. He’d seen too many of us drunk after saving the East Coast for us to be foster parents. So it was terrifying. I examined Peter, he was still focusing on his leg, but May and I were looking at his tests and seeing he was going into organ failure. And I was waiting for her to throw in the towel and abandon her kid. Dreading it. I told Peter that he was getting a whole sheet cake to himself because he was so skinny. He asked for pink cake with chocolate icing. The first explosive emotion, not calm reaction, I saw from May was when she took a bite of the sheet cake from BJ’s Wholesale and said, ‘Betty Brant’s mother is a filthy liar.’” 

“You mean I could have my birthday cake whenever I like?” asked Betty, looking shocked. “My mom doesn’t bake it while I’m at school?”

“A whole sheet cake costs forty dollars, a half is twenty-four,” agreed Hank. “You can have birthday cake whenever you like.”

“My mother is a filthy liar!” said Betty.

Nodding Hank said, “Yeah, I’d been holding my breath for May to say that this was too much, say something cruel about Peter being enhanced, and instead, she just called your mom a filthy liar. Now, it’s a running joke here: I should react to this huge thing but, y’know, it’s easier to just focus on Betty Brant’s mother being a filthy liar. It helped that she used your full name. It wouldn’t be as funny if she had just said, ‘Betty’s mother is a filthy liar.’ The specificity of your full name just makes it better. I knew that you and Peter were being study buddies this year, but I didn’t realize that it was for AP Physics; I would have ordered something else. I just knew that kids from Sci Tech deserved cake, and Peter likes this one.” 

“Of course Peter likes it. It’s a great cake. It’s so good, Mom won’t give out the recipe,” she laughed.

“Step one: preheat the oven. Step two: go to BJ’s,” agreed Peter. “It’s a straightforward recipe. How does everyone in the school know about it?” he asked Hank. “We were alone in the kitchen when that happened.”

“Well, all the faculty heard that your aunt was here, everyone was concerned you were about to get kicked out of your house. That is a genuine worry. And I said, ‘Honestly, she is liable to stab Steve Rogers to death and burn SHIELD to the ground. But, she’s fine with Spidey, she’s just angry that someone named Betty Brant’s mother is a filthy liar.’ The kids have heard us joking about it, and we explained the joke without the context.”

Charles came in and said, “Oh, did I miss it?”

“Yes, Professor Xavier. I am aware that my mother is a filthy liar,” said Betty.

“I’m sorry, Betty, at least the lie made it so that you had a special cake,” he said, looking on the bright side as usual.

They went back to chatting about the test, and then Kitty said, “OMG, look at this good boy.” Kitty held out her phone, Ned was grinning with a poodle. 

“Are we talking about the dog or your boyfriend?” asked Bruce. 

She shrugged, “Both, really.”

“Then, yes, very good boy,” agreed Bruce indulgently. 

“You’re dating Ned Leeds?” asked Betty.

“For a while now,” agreed Kitty. 

“Where’s Ice? Is he really respecting AP Physics as a barring factor for lunch?” asked Peter.

Hank shook his head, “Video on the internet didn’t have his face, and he doesn’t want to connect it to his name.”

Seymour said, “I went to middle school with a boy who ended up at a different high school. A few months, later he accidentally put an attempted rapist in a block of ice. Now Rocky, the attempted rapist, is in juvie. I guess the kids who went to school with him are just not as awful as the kids at Shadowcat’s school and didn’t scream out a name on the internet. Maybe they’re all thrilled he stopped Rocky. I always liked the kid. We had nothing in common because he was sporty as hell but really nice. Also, really handsome with gorgeous shocking white hair. Thought he dyed it, but, in retrospect, he was a mutant. Nice guy.”

“Oh, hey,” said Kitty, looking at Peter, “speaking of nice people: my Zeyde sent you a gift.”

“Why?” he asked, confused, and more than happy to completely ignore Seymour’s words, neither confirm nor deny. 

“Because your name is all over the internet, and that makes him sad. He made you a gift.”

“Ohhh, is it baked goods?” he asked hopefully. 

“No, it’s in the dorms. I’ll go get it.”

Once she was gone, Peter said, “Am I going to have to fake liking it?”

“I would,” said Bruce. “But you’re not going to be faking it.”

“We should hit the road in a little while, just to make sure we hit the closing bell,” said Mr. Soffeus, sounding regretful. “Thank you for bringing us into your beautiful home. It’s nice to see where Peter will be. Very cool school.”

“I’m glad we could host you,” said Charles with a warm smile. 

Jean came in and said, “Hey, Pete, is it possible you inadvertently shamed the College Board on TV?”

“No,” he shook his head, “it was pretty advertent. Did it look inadvertent? I was going for guileless.”

“You looked young, angry and hurt, not like you had an agenda. It looked like you really went over there to thank the reporters,” said Jean. “I bet they’ll give your school second test dates.”

“Good,” said Peter, “because we all felt good about the test, but I have no idea how the rest of the school is doing.” 

Kitty came back and held out a sealed box. “I know what it is, but I didn’t open it. It’s a felony to open someone else’s mail.” 

Peter pulled the tape off and said, “Is that return address right? You send thank you cards for handmade gifts.”

“So well raised,” Kitty teased, “yes, that’s his address.”

Peter pulled out a scarf and said, “Wow, he knitted this? Oh, wow, it has Nightwing symbols knitted in!”

“Yeah, he asked about sports, and I told him you’re obsessed with the Mets, but he thought the blue and orange would be ugly. So I told him that you love Nightwing and sent him a picture.”

“And he knitted it in? That’s crazy complicated. So cool. I love it.”

“Zeyde does love to knit. He makes crazy patterns.”

“So cool. I’m rocking this come fall. Totally awesome. I no longer have my Dick Grayson hair. Hopefully, it grows back. I hate the buzz.”

“You don’t have the right shaped skull for it. You kind of look like, well,” she trailed off.

“I look like a skinhead neo-Nazi,” he agreed. 

“I stopped myself from saying it,” she nodded.

“You look like someone who had serious brain surgery,” said Hank. “You are so squeamish, thank goodness you weren’t awake for it. The sheer volume blood you spilled onto the floor of that OR.”

“Also, the fact that you washed bone shrapnel out of my torso. So glad you don’t have to witness your own surgery,” said Peter, putting on his scarf. “I love this. So cozy and soft. Definitely needs a thank you card.”

Charles smiled and said, “One last thing before you go, Peter, can you look at the course guide? I want you to pick your courses for next year so that I can figure out the schedule. I might be able to get you a four day week. That way, you could have one full day interning, which would give you more downtime in the evening — for both swinging and relaxing. We don’t believe in homework other than essays and reading, so you should be getting more free time in your evenings. You can skip Gym, I’ll mark Spider-Man as your gym credits — you get an A.”

“Cool, thank you,” said Peter accepting the course catalog, a pencil and a sheet of paper. Flicking through, he said, “Shop?”

“I could set it up for you,” suggested Charles. 

“Nah, I mostly used it to build tech. I’ll take home ec.”

“I’m sorry we don’t have academic decathlon,” said Charles. 

“That does suck,” agreed Peter. “But MJ is going to get me the book, so I can play the home version of the game. I’ll still study with the team.” He handed everything back. 

“If you explain it to the students, tell them why it’s fun, have MJ and Ned back you up, you can get an intermural game,” said Charles. “You left Spanish Four off your list.”

“Do I gotta?” asked Peter.

“You kinda gotta,” said Charles.

“Please preemptively apologize to Skin and promise him that I will keep up my study buddy system with Matt Murdoch,” said Peter.

“Okay, two APs and an IB is a lot,” said Charles. 

“I want as many credits under my belt as possible. I want to graduate in four years, and I want a Ph.D., but I also want to Spider-Man a lot more than I am currently doing.”

“You’re a millionaire who never needs to work,” said Charles. “If it takes you twenty years to get your degrees, so be it. Bruce, Reed, Stark — they all started fighting after school; you’re doing it concurrently. Hank took it slow. Don’t burn out being everything to everyone. Hank can only rebuild your body so many times.”

Peter nodded, “I know. But this is my plan. If it takes a little longer, okay, but getting a ton of credits now means needing fewer then.”

“Sounds good,” agreed Charles. He looked at his watch and said, “You should leave to hit the last bell and be there for any busses.”

Passing them in the hall, Logan said, “You be careful out there among them English, Pete.”

“Not a film reference I would have expected from you,” said Peter. “But, always.”

At the door, they all said their thank yous to Charles. On the bus, Peter was still thinking about his test answers, but Mr. Soffelus said, “I liked your friends, Peter.”

“Yeah? They’re nice, right?” he said with a smile.

“You’ll be with friends next year,” said the teacher, comfortingly.

“I’m going to miss you, but school is going to be great. My problem is… I have no anonymity. But… it’s gonna be okay. I will breathe through it and allow the fire to forge me stronger… or that’s what Clea says.”

“Who is Clea?” asked Sebastian.

“She’s the Queen of the Dark Dimension, also, like, my therapist. I mean, she’s not licensed, but she’s great.”

“You have a therapist?” asked Seymour.

“A whole bunch of our friends were murdered, and my name is on the internet. And I never actually talked to anyone after the boat… I thought it best.”

Seymour nodded, “You were also shot.”

Shrugging, Peter said, “That doesn’t bother me. Injuries happen when you fight crime. It bugs me that I’m benched but not that I was shot. I’ve been shot before. When Steve Rogers broke my leg — that was awful: he was supposed to be a hero. But domestic terrorists with guns? Whatever.”

Seymour looked shocked by that but asked, “And she’s the Queen of the Dark Dimension?”

“Yeah, but she’s totally down to earth. There’s no ‘your majesty’ stuff. I drink Coke, she drinks tea and we talk about Ned’s leg and the fact that all my neighbors are leaving the neighborhood like rats from a sinking ship. The Sanctum Sanctorum has a kinda cold atmosphere, but then Stephen and Clea are there, and it’s nice.”

“Does she have many patients?” asked Mr. Soffelus, glancing in the mirror. 

“No, just me. Clea’s not a therapist, really. Her uncle put her in a pocket dimension and tortured her for a couple hundred years. Nothing I can say to her about Steve Rogers, SHIELD, the shooting, Instagram — any of it — can throw her. She’s great, super nice.”

“Your life is very different than mine,” said Sebastian. 

“That’s probably truer than you even realize,” agreed Peter. “Hey, thank you for being nice to Angel about his wings. He’s terrified of homo sapiens. His parents tried to have them removed by a surgeon like a vestigial tail. Someone at the hospital called Charles, and he got a court order against them and seized him. They had Angel convinced his wings were bad and shameful instead of just a natural part of him. They were damaged and atrophied when he came to the school, because he had kept them firmly folded to his back his whole life. It was really cool of you to call them pretty.”

“My God, poor kid,” said Sebastian.

“Yeah, if you have a kid who turns out to be homo superior, be nice. A few people still talk to their families, Cat, Ice, but most of them either get dumped or removed from horrible situations. Just call Charles, get your kid enrolled and visit and call as much as you can. Cat spent Spring Break and a week in the summer at home. She would have gone home for longer during the summer but I was healing at the school and then she and Ice came to my house and we built a giant splash pad. Now that she can control her powers, she could reintegrate into society. But, she has tons of friends at school, and no one likes switching schools during high school.” 

“It sucks that you can’t stay with us,” said Betty. 

“Some kids at school disagree,” said Peter. “They are giving me a wide berth in the halls. I scare people, it’s probably for the best that I won’t be there. Even kids who’ve worn Spider-Man t-shirts in the past are scared. I guess Spider-Man isn’t real, but a guy who can lift a bus and snap a person in half and sits in your cafeteria is.” He shrugged. “Whatever, I have friends there, and I’m still around after school if you want to hang out.”

“What APs are you taking?” asked Betty. He told her, and she said, “Want to be study buddies for AP U.S.? We can meet after school. You live, like, ten blocks from me.”

“If you want to move closer, houses in my neighborhood are on the market,” he sighed, “I would love to be study buddies, yes, please. And my house has great snacks because I eat a lot. Like, once a month, your birthday cake is in the fridge.”

Laughing, she said, “I can’t believe a whole school knew my mom was lying before I did.”

Peter smiled, “I think it made a big impact because they were ready for me to get kicked out, and it was a huge relief to have May react to the cake instead of my secret.”

“History isn’t my strongest area, and I really like the guides we make each other, so this will be good. We can help each other,” she said. “You can come to my house too. My parents have been cool.”

“Cool,” he said, smiling. 

Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe he could scavenge the nice part of his life and tie it all into a cohesive whole. Maybe he didn’t have to lose everything. His friends were good people, going to the Xavier school proved that not everyone was unkind to people who were different. And, maybe, he could rebuild his life into something stronger than it had been. While he didn’t like having his name known, it was nice to have long talks with the cops, not doing a fake voice. It was nice to have a class schedule tailored to giving him a better timetable for Spider-Man. He was pleased his friends would never think he flaked on them while he was fighting crime. And, hell, if he had to buy more houses, he could turn them into labs, workshops and crazy gyms. He would salvage what he could from his old lives and, as Clea said, forge it into something stronger. Thinking about it strengthened his resolve. He would lean into the problem and, tomorrow, he would wear an unreleased design from the MSF’s upcoming Spider-Man shirt line. The only way out was through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all she wrote, folks! I hope you've enjoyed this ride with me. The AP test is done, Betty knows her mom is a filthy liar and this long story is complete. 
> 
> Sorry I injured Peter so much; we always hurt the ones we love. 
> 
> Please, leave comments and kudos, I love knowing what people think and hearing from you!
> 
> Edit: I was asked in the comments if Betty calls her mom out. Here are some notes to wrap up the 'verse:
> 
> I don't know if Betty will call her mom on it. I do know that she and Peter will stay good friends throughout their lives. I also know Peter will eventually own his whole block, and it will have a picket fence around it as well as a walled garden so people on the street can't watch him sunbath. May will end up with Hank and will work with him as a surgical nurse when the school needs her, taking fewer hours at whatever hospital she ends up working at — she doesn't need to be full time: Peter has got the bills. Deadpool finds some peace and entirely stops killing folks for good, but he stays a merc. He spends Christmas with the Parkers. Johnny and Bobby get married, Peter cries during his best man speech. He will marry his high school sweetheart. Flash is in the wedding party because he and Peter become friends. Both Peter and MJ will get PhDs (Ned only wants a masters because computer engineers don't need a doctorate). Peter stays home with the kids because he's a millionaire, and, as much as he loves science, he also loves baking for the bake sale. He builds his own tech and keeps getting patents from his home lab. He never joins a team, but he helps out the X-Men, Fantastics, Defenders and anyone else who needs a hand. He stays friends with everyone; he goes to Midtown Sci Tech school dances, and his friends go to the Mansion for New Year's.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts, comments and kudos are very welcome!


End file.
